Dead End Job
by itsravensfault
Summary: This is the sequel to School can not contain us. YOu should read it first before you read this but yeah. Sherlock/John later on and so on and so on. Basically there is no summery because I stink at them. Have Fun!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey folks I'm back! As you read this is the sequel you've all been waiting for. It hasn't been very long I know but I got bored one day and wanted to start writing this. Um… there are things I need to tell you. Do you remember in my last story how it alternated between Sherlock and John? Yeah well that isn't going to start out like that. It's going to alternate between John and Sarah for only a bit then it's off to our two favorite crime solvers. Nothing really is different except…well you'll find out. I really don't know what else to tell you, well maybe that I don't know. Um, I do hope you like this chapter and this story of course, I hope you've all been enjoying your time off from this and that you will stick around to the end of this one. Well yeah that's it, also I don't own Sherlock in any way and yes this is a disclaimer. See ya. **

John Watson was staring at the empty bowl in front of him. It was five o'clock in the morning; he woke up at three from a nightmare again. Ever since he was shipped home from Afghanistan for the last time he's been having them. Dreams of the war never haunted him before, maybe because he knew he could go back, but when he was injured his life was never the same.

He felt slender hands wrap around his shoulders. He wished he could slip away from them but he couldn't. "Hey Sarah," he mumbled.

John met Sarah when he was at the hospital recovering from his bullet wound. He could tell she harbored a giant crush on him but didn't have the guts to ask him out. John figured she was pretty and he did like her a little. He thought she could be interesting and fun to hang around with, maybe she could fill a void in his life that used to hold the yearning for action.

He had a plan, he was going to date Sarah and no longer be an adrenaline junkie as some of his friends called him. They would move in together and get married, or maybe the other way around whichever happened first. Then maybe have a few kids that they would name Nick and Jane. They would move to the country when they got old and visit their grandkids every so often. Eventually he would feel fine just sitting down and reading the newspaper without the need to go out and do something.

Sarah kissed the top of his hair. "What are you doing up, you don't have work today," she told him.

John didn't want to tell her that he had another nightmare. "I just woke up," he lied to her, unless you call waking up in a cold sweat afraid that you were dead just waking up. "I couldn't go back to sleep after that so I decided I would get ready for the day."

Sarah sighed; she dropped her hands from his shoulders and walked to the fridge. "I know you had a nightmare John, why don't you talk about it?" she asked. She really wished that he would talk to her about these things. She only wanted to help; she didn't mean any harm by it.

John clenched his teeth shut and shook his head. "If you already knew why I was up why did you ask?" he inquired. She opened her mouth to say something but John put up his hand to stop her. "Never mind, it's just I don't need two people trying to pry open my dreams." He was referring to the therapist that he was seeing. She told him he should try to talk about his dreams with someone and that he should start a blog. The blog thing threw him off. He didn't know what he should put in a blog, his therapist said all the things that happened to him but nothing happened to him anymore. There was once a time where everything could be happening around him but now he was Mr. Nothing.

Sarah looked down a little ashamed. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'll be in the shower if you need me."

John nodded; he listened to her leave still staring at his empty bowl.

-

John left the flat before Sarah got out of the shower. He left her a note stating that he would be out for the rest of the day and shouldn't wait up for him if he's gone past nine. He knew he should have waited for her to get before he left but he really wanted to get going.

He walked all the way to the train station, even though his leg was throbbing in pain the whole walk. He bought himself a cheap train ticket with the money in his pocket and waited for the two hour ride to start.

The whole ride there he was jittery. It's been ten years since he's been back to the school, he wasn't sure what he was going to find there. He was hoping to just be able to see it again and that he would feel the same way he did back when he was attending it, back when he was just a teenager without a care in the world, when he had someone great by his side.

John had to shake himself out of those thoughts quickly. He didn't want to think about something that happened so long ago and that didn't even matter. He sighed and reached in his back pocket, it was instinct to look at that photo whenever he thought about that man. He didn't have his wallet with him. 'How could I forget that?' he thought to himself.

He checked his other pocket just to make sure it wasn't there. He grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Sarah's number. She should still be home and could see if his wallet is there. He hoped it was because if it wasn't then he probably dropped it somewhere between where he was now and London.

"Hello?" Sarah answered.

"Hey Sarah I was wondering if you could check if my wallet is in the flat?" he asked quickly, "if you're still there of course."

John could hear Sarah sigh on the other end. He rolled his eyes; of course she would get irritated if he asked her to do anything. "Yes it's here," she answered flatly. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Nowhere," he told her. "Thanks, bye." He hung up. He knew it was rude but he could feel a fight coming on and he was not in the mood for a fight.

John sighed loudly and rested his head against the window. He would have to deal with being without that picture for the day.

-

John walked up the hill and saw the school. He smiled feeling better about his day already. He started the long walk up to the entrance. He almost felt like he was back in school, except now he was a little taller and had a cane.

"John," someone yelled. "John Watson."

John turned and saw someone jogging towards him. John smiled politely. He wasn't sure who the man was just yet. "Hi…" he trailed off.

"Mike Stamford," Mike told him. "I know I got fat."

John shook his head and held out his hand. "Of course, Mike hi," he said. "How are you?"

"I'm good, working at the school as a teacher now. I thought I would never even think about doing it but it's fun."

John nodded. "I have a question, do you know if Mycroft still works here?" he asked. He was biting his lip as he waited for Mike to answer.

"Mycroft?" Mike asked.

John sighed; of course Mike wouldn't know him by the first name. "Mr. Holmes, you know he taught politics," he tried to clarify.

Realization hit Mike and he shook his head. "No he left right after we graduated I believe," he told him. "But enough about him, what have you been up to. Last time I heard you were off being shot at, what happened?"

John's grip on his cane tightened. For some reason that irked him, how could someone be so blind and asked such a question. 'Oh nothing much, just got shot, almost died but then was save,' he said angrily in his head. "I was shot," he answered with instead.

Mike looked uncomfortable. He shifted a few times on his feet before beaming. "Would you like to have an old school lunch with me?" he asked.

John thought about it. He used to hate the school lunch, anytime he could eat in town he would. He figured Mike had to stay on campus because he had a class to attend to and couldn't skip like John would if he went to town. He shrugged his shoulders and answered with a yes.

-

The lunch was, just as John had remembered, horrible. He took a few more bites of the "chicken" before looking up. "So anyone from the old days still work here?" he asked to get the conversation going.

Mike went through the list of teachers that they had mentally. "Anderson still works here," he told him. "I think everyone else either died or quit."

John smiled; it grew until he thought he wouldn't be able to fit it on his face anymore. "Anderson still works here?" he asked. "Oh I could have fun with him."

Mike laughed. "Didn't he give you and Holmes a detention for changing his room around?" he asked trying to remember back.

John shook his head. "I was never involved in that and I'm pretty sure Sherlock never was too," he explained. "I think it was the Blaine kid who sat behind me. Anderson had a grudge against Sherlock and would pounce on any chance to get him in trouble."

"Speaking of Sherlock how is he?" Mike asked.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, I haven't seen him in fifteen years," he told him truthfully.

"Fifteen years?"

John nodded; he looked down at his food sullenly. "We broke up the day we left school," he stated.

Mike nodded. "You two couldn't handle the long distance relationship?" he asked.

John snorted. "Something like that," he said. 'It wasn't the fact that some crazy psychopath was trying to get him,' he thought to himself sarcastically.

Mike understood that John didn't want to talk about it. "Well what are you doing now?" he asked.

"I'm a doctor and work at the hospital where my girlfriend works," he explained.

"Sounds fun," Mike laughed.

"Loads," John said sarcastically. "I'm not used to that kind of work. I'm used to bullets whizzing pass as I try to sew up a man while they're screaming in pain."

Mike nodded understandably. "I would think you get that enough from kids," he joked.

John pointed at him with a smile. "If I wanted to deal with kids I would have had some of my own," he told him. He stood up, making sure to grab his tray and brought it to the trash.

"Where are you going after this?" Mike asked as he followed the blonde.

John formed a mischievous smile. "I'm visiting an old friend of mine," he said. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, we should keep in touch," Mike told him. "It's nice seeing you John Watson, have a good day."

John nodded in agreement and walked out of the mess hall.

-

John was standing outside the door to Anderson's room with a wide grin plastered on his face. He couldn't believe that he was standing outside the room of the teacher he loved to torture so much. He knocked; he only had to wait a second before Anderson looked up. The man's eye grew wide before he stood up.

Anderson crept opened the door and peered at him. "What are you doing here?" he asked. His eyes were darting around like he was expecting someone else to show up.

"I just wanted to see you sir," John said. He could see the twitch of Anderson's eye.

"I'm busy," Anderson snapped.

John smiled smugly to himself. "Doing what?" he asked innocently.

"Nothing," Anderson edged the door closer to the frame.

John tried to look around his head. "Why is there a dinosaur in your room?" he asked puzzled by the fake skeleton.

"Dinosaurs are a part of history Mr. Watson," Anderson told him. "Now if you don't mind…"

"You never taught us about dinosaurs," John told him.

Anderson slammed the door shut and shouted through the glass, "Good day Mr. Watson."

"Good day to you too sir," John stated cheerily. He heard Anderson growl before turning to walk away. He was feeling better already. He left the door and limped down the halls with his eyes shut. It felt nice to be back at the school. It almost felt like he was home again. "Speaking of home," he said. He decided he would want to see one more thing before he got ready to leave.

-

John walked down the familiar hallway and stopped at the door that had his special numbers on it. "221 B," he whispered as he traced his fingers across the number plate. He longed to go inside just to see if it changed.

He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He figured there wouldn't be, it was the middle of the school day. He sighed and leaned against the wooden door.

He began to wonder what happened behind this door. Did its occupants use the room like they were supposed to, as a battleground when things grew under the bed and clothes littered the floor? Or did they follow the rules and kept their rooms clean.

"Who are you," John heard a voice coming down the hall, "and what are you doing by my room?"

John lifted his head off the door and looked at him. The teen was scrawny with brown short hair; he also seemed to be sick judging by the bags under his eyes. John smiled at him and shrugged. "I used to come to this school," he told him. "This was my room for my last year."

The kid nodded, he stepped closer. "Arthur Listling," he introduced himself.

John shook the offered hand. "John Watson," he said.

Arthur's eyes widened and his hand dropped to his side. "You're John Watson?" he asked in awe.

John nodded slowly. "Yeah, why?" he asked.

Arthur waved his hand in front of him eagerly. "You need to come see this," he said. He quickly pushed John out of the way so he could unlock his door. John followed him into the room and the first thing he saw was the map of London still on the wall.

"That's still there?" he asked in disbelief.

Arthur nodded. "Mrs. Hudson, the old head of house, fought to keep it on as a little monument to you and your friend Sherlock Holmes," he explained. He dropped to his knees and reached under his bed. "I found these my first year here." He handed John a box with some old notebooks in it. "I believe they're yours."

John stared down at them not sure what to feel. Inside the notebook were his short adventures with Sherlock. He wrote them down so he would never forget them if he got too old to remember. "I read every one of them," Arthur told him. "I don't know how they were left here all these years."

John laughed quietly. "I knew I forgot something here," he said. He looked up at the eager teen and shook his head. He couldn't believe a trip to his old school would be like this.

"Do you still go on adventures with Holmes?" Arthur asked. "Cause if you did I would love it if you could tell me about them."

John shook his head again. "I haven't seen him in a while," he told him. "Hey do you mind if I take this home?" He would love to read them again.

"No, of course not," Arthur told him.

John gave him another smile. "I should get going," he told him. "Thanks for the notebooks."

"Any time Mr. Watson," Arthur told him.

-

John left the school catching a cab to the train station with the box settled on his lap the whole way. He was looking forward to read over his adventures again. They were just what he needed after the rough week he had.

On the train he picked up the top notebook that was battered and discolored from being stuck under a bed for about fifteen years. He ran his fingers over the frayed edges before he flipped open the first page.

'The first "case" I ever had the pleasure of working with Sherlock Holmes…'

**So yeah your thoughts on that would be great. I hope it doesn't seem weird; I might have a hard time with this part. I really don't know what to say anymore. Wait…I do now…welcome back my friends, keep your hands and feet inside the ride and all times and see you when it's over. BYE!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys. Second chapter is now what you're going to read. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.**

Sarah tapped her fingers on the table as she stared down at the photo of a man playing the violin, or at least she thought it was a man, it could very well be a girl. That didn't matter as much as the fact that she found the picture in the wallet of her boyfriend.

She was worried that the man who she loved was cheating on her with the person in the picture. It wasn't the fact that he had the picture, because she could dismiss that as a cousin she never heard about, but the words on the back.

'John, I love you so much. I am sorry that I had to do what I just did. I miss you already. –SH' is what was written on the back. She sighed heavily running her fingers through her mussed hair.

"What's wrong?" Cassandra, Sarah's friend, asked sliding in a seat next to her.

Sarah covered the picture with her hand. "Nothing," she said with a smile. "How's your day so far?"

Cassandra eyed the picture but ignored it. "Good," she said. "I only had a few hard patients to work with, "how about you?"

"It's been okay," Sarah answered. She slipped the picture back in her pocket. "I didn't have the best morning at home."

"Why, what happened?" Cassandra asked.

Sarah leaned forward. "Has anyone ever cheated on you?" she asked eagerly.

Cassandra sat back covering the gasp that left her mouth. "No he didn't," she stated in disbelief.

"No he's not," Sarah told her. "At least I don't think he is." She looked down in her lap confused with the whole situation.

Cassandra placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what happened this morning," she told her like a concerned mother.

Sarah took a deep breath. "Nothing really," she started, "John woke up before me and left when I was in the shower without telling me where he was going. He called to see if his wallet was at the flat and hung up when I asked him where he was heading."

Cassandra's shoulders drooped. "That doesn't seem like John," she told her.

"I know," Sarah sighed. "He's been having a rough week so maybe that's taking a toll on his mood."

"See," Cassandra exclaimed, "he's most likely not cheating. He's just having an off day."

"Thanks Cass," Sarah said. She sent her a small smile before standing up. "I have to get back on shift."

"Tell me if something is up, okay?" Cassandra told her.

"Okay," Sarah said as she left the canteen.

-

Sarah entered the room with her head down reading the clipboard with the patient's information on it. She looked up smiling at the man who looked over at her lazily.

"Dr. Sawyer," he said as a greeting.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I heard surgery went well." The man had his appendix removed the night before.

The man looked up at her. "Someone left an umbrella in here," he told her.

Sarah turned around, following his gaze, and saw an umbrella leaning against the chair. "Ah yes," she stated. "Would you like me to take care of that for you?"

"Yes," he answered.

Sarah missed the smirk that played itself out on the patient's face when she turned around. She grabbed the umbrella. "Right, I'll be back. When I am we'll talk about how your surgery went," she told him. She walked out of the room with the umbrella in hand. She rounded a corner and was stopped by a man with a cup of coffee.

"Excuse me where are you going with that?" the man asked pointing at the object in Sarah's hand.

"Um," Sarah started, "I don't think that's any of your business."

The man fixed her with a stare that made her wish she never opened her mouth. "I believe it is my business," he told her. "That is my umbrella."

Sarah looked surprised. "Well my patient said someone left it there," she told him.

The man took the umbrella from her hands; he walked past her in to her patient's room. "Sherlock," he said in a calm voice that didn't make anything feel calm.

Sarah rushed after him to see what was going to happen.

"I imagine you would try to behave for once," the man told him.

Sherlock looked up at him with a faint smile. "Mycroft, all I did was tell her that you left your umbrella here," he told him. "How was I supposed to know she would try to take it away?"

Sarah opened her mouth to say that he did not inform her that it was his umbrella and he wanted it taken away but Mycroft cut her off. "Oh give the poor girl a break," he warned. "Sorry for my brother's immaturity. Mycroft Holmes."

Sarah shook the hand that Mycroft held out. "Nice to meet you, Sarah Sawyer," she told him. "Now Mr. Holmes I'm going to check on your stitches to see if they're alright and check if everything is good, okay?"

"I'll let you work on me if I can do the same," Sherlock told her.

Sarah gaped at him. "Mr. Holmes…" she started her face getting redder.

Sherlock waved his hand. "Not like that," he told her with mild disgust in his voice. "I'm bored; I would like to do some things that'll entertain me."

"I," she turned to Mycroft but he didn't offer her anything. "Okay. Well I'm going to start with my check up."

Sherlock steeped his fingers under his chin, as he watched Sarah work. "Ah," he let out. He ignored the warning look from Mycroft. "You're having troubles at home."

Sarah went rigged. "How did you…"

Sherlock cut her off, "You're hair is messy." Mycroft covered his face with his hand trying his hardest not to groan out loud. "That means you're angry with someone and you don't care about what you look like right now, it could be troubles at work but I've seen you pass by many times you looked at ease with everyone here, so it's at home.

You're not wearing a wedding ring so it's not your husband, maybe your boyfriend then. Now what is the most common problem between a boyfriend and girlfriend?"

Sarah glared at him. "What are you talking about?" she asked through gritted teeth. She wasn't comfortable with him knowing stuff like that.

"You think he's cheating on you," Sherlock told her with the confidence.

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah stated. "Now can you be quiet for the duration of the check up?"

As Sarah turned Sherlock caught sight of something in her pocket, he reached his hand out but Mycroft stopped it with the handle of his umbrella. He shook his head no with a serious look. Sherlock rolled his eyes; he maneuvered out of the hand just enough to grab the object.

His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the picture. He quickly school his face back in to its usual unemotional state. "You're boyfriend is not cheating on you," he told Sarah.

Sarah turned back on him. "I thought I told you to keep quiet," she said. She noticed the picture in his hand. She checked her pocket; sure enough the picture wasn't there. "How…"

"Going by this picture I can tell you that he is definitely not cheating on you," Sherlock said. "It's too old first of all, at least over ten years old. So maybe it's from an old lover, one that he lost a long time ago."

"How do you know he's not cheating on me with that person still," Sarah asked.

Sherlock sighed. How could he explain to her that John's not cheating on her without revealing it was him? He thought for a minute looking over the photo. "You most likely found this in his wallet, no man is dumb enough to keep a picture of his secret lover in his wallet where you can easily find it," he explained. "Maybe this man left him and he missing him, maybe he died and this is the only thing he has left of him, these are a few reasons why he might still have the photograph," Sherlock almost sounded sad when he said the words.

Sarah snatched the photograph out of his hand. "That'll be all Mr. Holmes," she snapped. She stalked out of the room angrily. She knew the moment that John got home they were going to have a talk the picture.

**So yeah that was that. Sherlock is here, yay! I hope you liked it; it was very hard to write. I had to do many things over and then someone shut off the computer before I could save so had to start from where I left off. Any way I'm done boring you with details. Merry Doctor Who Christmas Special and a Happy New Sherlock. BYE! **


	3. Chapter 3

**So hi everybody, I'm sure some of you have already seen the new Sherlock. I haven't of course but I have almost passed out on the floor from breathing to hard about it. I don't think I can go on tumblr at the moment to many spoilers for me. But I can't wait for the episode. Any way I hope you enjoy this chapter. If there are any major mistakes that I don't usually make it's because I don't have my normal thing, sorry. See ya.**

John climbed the stairs slowly balancing the box full of notebooks in one arm, using his cane with his other. He placed the box down at his feet so he had a free hand to dig his keys out of his pocket. He fit it in to the lock, he pushed opened the door. He cringed when it creaked on its hinges. It was past nine and he didn't want to wake Sarah, he knew she had a long shift today and needed her rest.

He bent down to pick up the box backing his way in the flat.

"About time you got home," Sarah's voice said.

John jumped dropping his cane and the box. He clutched at his chest trying to calm the ravenous tiger in his heart. "God Sarah," he breathed. "I'm not as young as I look, you could have given me a heart attack."

"How was your day?" she asked, the anger was not missed in her voice.

John took a few steps in, slowly so he wouldn't startle her in to making a bad decision. "What's wrong?" he asked setting the box down.

Sarah set her jaw sending a glare his way. "Answer the question John, how was your day?" she repeated.

John could tell that she wasn't going to let down anytime soon so he decided he would just answer her questions. "It was good," he told her truthfully.

She leaned further back in her chair slowly raking her eyes over John's form. "Where did you go?" she asked.

"Why do you want to know?" John asked. The moment he saw Sarah's face change from slightly angry to murderous rage he knew he was wrong in saying that.

"Why do I want to know?" Sarah repeated. She stood from her chair to take a step closer to him. She took a few deep breaths trying to calm herself so she could speak properly. "I want to know because of this." She threw the picture at him.

It fluttered down at his feet, he bent down to pick it up. He stared at the picture for a few seconds before turning his face towards Sarah. "Why do you have this?" he asked agitated.

Sarah shook her head vigorously. "I'm not the one cheating on you, so you don't ask the questions," she said with her arms cross. "Now, where did you go?"

John stared at her in disbelief. "You think I'm cheating on you?" he asked, his voice rising in anger. "Sarah I can not believe you. First you go snooping through my wallet now you're accusing me of cheating on you. What's wrong with you?"

Sarah took a few steps back. John had never yelled at her and it was an experience that frightened her. But she was ready to back down just yet. "Nothing's wrong with me John, you're the one whose hiding things on me, and leaving without telling me where you're going," she rambled. "I think I deserve an explanation."

"Do you know what I think?" he asked. "I think you need to stop being such a prying..."

"Out of my house," Sarah yelled before he could finish his sentence. "I don't want to see you until you learn how to treat me better."

John picked up his things that he dropped on the floor. "Trust me, I am glad to be getting out of here," he told her before he walked out of the flat.

-

John didn't have a plan on where he would go after he left the flat but that didn't matter. He was angry with Sarah, she went in to his wallet and took something very dear to him. Then she had the audacity to blame him of cheating on her.

He wasn't going to tell her who was in the picture. He wasn't going to tell her that he had the picture all through university, all through those late night studying sessions. He wasn't going to tell her that the picture was the only thing he clung to through out all his tours in Afganastan, or that he kept it close to his heart and believed it is what saved his life the day he was shot. He wasn't going to tell any one about how the picture was like a second heart to him and could barely function without it.

He didn't think that anyone deserved to know those things about it. It didn't matter to them at all what he did with things from his past. It especially wasn't any of Sarah's business.

John sighed heavily, he stopped walking so he could look at his surroundings. He looked up, he saw the hospital to his right, he shrugged his shoulders and marched in.

The warm air inside was greatly appreciated after the long walk in the bitter cold night. He wasn't even aware how cold it was till he stepped in to the hospital.

"Hey John what are you doing her?" Nurse Mince asked was a nice older woman who liked to look out for John when he was around. "Your shift starts tomorrow."

John walked up to her, placing his box on the counter in front of her. "To tell you the truth I was kicked out of the flat by Sarah," he told her.

Mince gave him a sympathetic look, she gave his shoulder a pat. "You look tired do you want to sit down?" she asked. She came around the counter and ushered him in the little group of nurses. "Rory's not here so you can take his chair."

John settled down in the chair relieved to be off his leg once more. "Thank you Mincy," he sighed.

"You have a box," she pointed out. "Is she kicking you out for good?"

John shook his head. "No, these are just some old notebooks," he said. "It's just a small fight, I'll be back in sooner or later."

Mince gave him another pat on the shoulder before she sat down in her chair. "So what was the fight about," she asked, "if you don't mind me asking of course."

John took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. "She is stuck with the idea that I am cheating on her," he explained.

Mince took in a sharp breath. "You aren't, right?" she asked.

"No," John answered.

"Then why would she think so?" she inquired.

John's fist clenched. "She went through my wallet and found a picture of somebody," he stated. "She probably thought I was out with him today."

"I'm sorry," Mince said. "I hope she comes to and realizes you're to nice to cheat on anyone."

John sat up in his chair. "Is there anything I can help with?" he asked. If he was going to be staying there till his next shift then he might as well do something instead of sitting around like a lump on a frog. "Anything, I'll give patients food, I'll mop the floors, I'll keep an eye on the dangerous patients. Anything will do."

Mince laughed. "You know I have a friend whose tenant is just like you, always needing to do something," she laughed. "I'm about to deliver some food to the patient's you can help push the cart around."

John grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You're a life saver Mincy," he stated happily.

"Follow me you energetic puppy," she said. She watched John grab his cane. "Oh I forgot, will you be alright to walk around pushing a cart?"

John rolled his eyes. "Nurse Mince, you see me do rounds all the time, don't you think I'll be okay using the cart as a cane?" he asked.

Mince nodded. "You're right," she said. "You're right, I'm sorry."

John hugged her. "I still love you Mincy," he said.

"Becareful John, Sarah might think I'm your secret lover," Mince laughed.

John shook his head laughing along with her. "You're like a mother to me don't say things like that," he told her.

Mince laughed even harder.

-

They were having fun passing out people's dinner, having conversation's with the patient's they knew.

"Next room, right here," Mince said trying to control her laughter after John's joke. "I know for certain that he's a picky eater."

"Do you want me to hold him down while you force feed him?" John asked playfully.

"That would be a lot of help," she said seriously.

John walked in to the room behind her, he stopped dead in his tracks once he saw the man in the bed. It was Sherlock Holmes the one person he thought he would never see again.

"Mr. Holmes," Mince greeted. "I see you didn't eat your lunch."

"I've been working," Sherlock said, in the deep baritone that always came up when he thought about the man, without looking up from the files on his lap.

Mince looked down at them, she grimaced and backed away. "I can see why you're not eating, those are sickening just to look at," she stated. She grabbed the tray with the lunch still on it. "Here John put this back on the cart."

It took John a few second's to respond, he shook his head taking the tray away from the nurse. When the action was done he was back in his spot with his eyes glued on Sherlock. Not once did he look up from his files to see who else was in the room.

"Mr. Holmes are you going to be eating your dinner tonight?" Mince asked.

Sherlock finally looked up, John didn't want to be seen so he turned his back quickly and busied himself with the cart. "Yes," he answered smoothly.

"John can you give Mr. Holmes his tray for me," Mince ordered. "Would you like me to fluff up your pillows for you?"

Sherlock turned to her with a sweet smile. "Yes please," he said.

John got the tray off the top rack, he turned around. For a millisecond his eyes met with Sherlock's. They looked the same as they did in school except now they seemed a bit colder. "Here you go Mr. Holmes," he said.

Sherlock grabbed the tray. "Thank you," he said still keeping eye contact with John.

"Well that's all," Mince stated putting the pillow back on the bed. "When I come around later that plate better be clean."

Sherlock nodded. He put the tray on his lap, picking up his fork he stuck it in to his meal. "It looks lovely."

John walked out of there before Mince could. He stopped just outside the door, he leaned up against the wall for support and sighed.

Mince walked out giving him a worried look. "Are you alright?" she asked stepping up to him.

John swallowed, he just noticed that his throat was dry. "Actually, my stomach isn't feeling to good. Is it alright if you finish this alone?" he asked.

"Of course," Mince told him. She ran a hand over his hair. "You go rest."

John nodded once quickly before running off. He was heading to the closest bathroom.

Once in there he leaned heavily up against he sink. He was taking deep breaths as he tried to control his heart. "Why is he here?" he asked out loud. "He has no right to just show up and...and...and say my name."

John dropped his head slowly on the mirror taking in a few more breaths. "It doesn't matter," he told himself, "I'll just make sure I stay away from that room so I don't have contact with him."

He spent three minutes thinking of ways to avoid Sherlock before a thought came to mind, 'What if he's done facing Moriarty?' He looked at his reflection before smiling. "If that's so then we can see each other again," he stated triumphantly. His smile fell again. "But it won't be the same, it'll be too different. He's probably moved on and forgotten about what we had. He probably deleted everything about. I'm useless to him now." John growled, his grip on the sink tightened.

There was no use in riling himself up. Sherlock was in the hospital, there was not other reason why he would be there. Especially not for John.

John pushed open the door to the bathroom he hid in, avoiding as much contact with people as he could he made his way to the front desk again.

"Dr. Watson," Nurse Jones said the moment he showed up, "there was a phone call for you."

John sat down in a chair rubbing his sore leg. "From who?" he asked.

The private phone rang, John looked at it. Jones motioned for him to pick it up. John lifted up the receiver. "Hello?" he asked.

"Dr. Watson," an elegant sounding voice came from the other end, "there is a car outside for you. Get in it." The line went dead.

John looked around trying to see if anyone was calling from in there. He couldn't see anybody, there were only him, Jones, and the cameras.

John dropped the phone on to its holder, he stood up, grabbed his cane and walked out of the hospital.

When he reached the doors he paused. 'What if this is Moriarty and he saw that I had contact with Sherlock?' he asked himself. 'That wasn't his voice but there were always voices changers.'

Despite his best interest he walked the rest of the way to the street. Like the voice on the phone said there was a car waiting for him.

John did something that all schools taught kids not to do, he got in to the strangers car. The moment his butt hit the seat he felt uncomfortable.

The car started driving away before he even knew where he was going. "Hello Dr. Watson, it's been too long."

**So did you like it? If you didn't I'm sorry. Happy new Sherlock everybody. BYE!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, what's up? I hope you will enjoy this chapter it was weird for me to write. I don't like writing for Sarah. Any way here is your chapter. See ya.**

Sarah walked in to the hospital with her head held high just incase she saw John. She didn't want him to see her like she was most of the night. When she looked around though John was no where in sight.

She sighed, relieved that he wasn't around at the moment so she could relax. She quietly walked up to the front desk to say high to some of her friends. "Hey Linda, how are you doing?" she asked leaning over the counter.

Linda looked up, she gasped before turning back to her phone. She quickly shut it off, she calmed down as she looked back up. "I'm good," she answered in a tone that said she knew what had happened. "How are you doing?"

Sarah sighed heavily. "John came here last night didn't he?" she asked tapping her fingers angrily on the desk.

"Mince told Julie," Linda admitted, "Julie told Yuni, she told Rory, who really didn't care. Ginger over heard and just texted me about it. Sorry."

Sarah sighed again. She rubbed her hand over her forehead. "Do you know what he said?" she asked slowly, she really wasn't in the mood for rumors to be going around the hospital.

"Well, Ginger said that John is cheating on you," she told her. "Also that he called you some awful names."

"What?" Sarah growled. She couldnt' believe John. "Do you know where he is now?"

Linda shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "He's not do in for another hour or so," she stated. "I'm sure you'll catch him then."

Sarah grinded her teeth in anger. The moment she saw the blond man she was going to make him sorry. "Thank you," she got out. She stood up straight, she sent one last look around before heading off to do her rounds.

-

Sarah checked her watch again waiting for it to change. She knew time wasn't going to go any quicker the more she looked at the time, in fact it seemed to be going slower. She ran her finger's through her hair frustratingly.

She stopped one of her friends while the hall to ask if he's seen John in the hospital yet.

"No," he said with a shrug. "Why, did he do something?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, I was just wondering," she sighed. She watched him walk away before turning around heading in the other direction.

She stopped outside a patient's room. She knocked once before letting herself in. "Ah, Mr. Holmes I see you have a visitor," she said once she eyed the tall man with the silver hair standing next to his bed along with his brother sitting in the chair.

Sherlock completely ignored her by continuing his conversation. "If you could get me more pictures of the crime scenes then I can help you better. Who's taking these photo's any way a duck?"

The other man sighed desperately. "Sherlock I'm doing the best I can," he told him. "These are the only pictures we could get before Sally set the place on fire."

Sherlock laughed. "Lestrade the one's you say are your best set crime scenes on fire," he said. "I know, it was the trip wire placed there by the killer."

Lestrade groaned again before turning to the other Mr. Holmes. "My own day off and I'm here keeping your brother entertained," he told him.

Sarah decided to budge in to the conversation. "Mr. Holmes I'm here to check up on you," she said stepping closer to the bed.

Sherlock tore his glare away from Lestrade only to lay it upon Sarah. "Yes of course," he said with a fake smile.

Sarah sent him a smile back, she bent over to look at his stitches. Sherlock leaned back on to the bed. "If I wasn't under constant surveillance from my brother the I could have left here and gone to the crime scene," he stated, then added, "maybe then the evidence wouldn't be torched."

Sarah gave him a look. "You wouldn't be allowed out of this hospital without my permission," she pointed out. "You appendix burst, you're lucky we got to it in time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've had far worse," he told her boringly. "Now Lestrade can you remember what the crime scene looked like before Donnavan ruined it?"

Lestrade shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead trying to remember what it looked like. "There was a man tied to a chair," he started. He paused for a moment. "The moment we opened the door a gun was fired. Turns out it was rigged to the door so when it opened the gun would go off. That rookie's going to need some therapy."

"That's horrible," Sarah stated. She covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at Lestrade.

Sherlock groaned angrily. "Ignore her," he ordered, "and please ignore anything that has to do with the emotion's of your new cops."

Lestrade looked from Sarah back to Sherlock. "The man is 38 years old, has no wife or children, and lives here in London," he listed off. "We got that from the DNA we got from the body."

"Obviously," Sherlock droned. "What type of gun was it?"

"A double barreled shotgun," he was told. "That's all we have now, the Yard has people in there looking for further evidence." He looked over to Mycroft who nodded for him to keep his cool.

Sherlock shut his eyes, he put his hands together under his chin taking a deep breath. Everyone in the room was silent just waiting for him to say something. "You won't find any evidence in there," he blurted out after a minute or two of silence. "The killer knew what he was doing, he made sure that he didn't kill the man so you can't get him with gun powder residue and he set up the trip wire to burn any of the evidence he may have left. Which, I might add, would be very little and would instantly burnt in the fire."

Lestade ran his fingers through his hair slowly, he brought them down across his face looking truly out of his depth. "Do you have any idea who the killer could be?"

Sherlock opened his mouth but stopped when the door to his room flew open.

"Sherlock Holmes," John said slightly panicked, "we need to talk."

**So this is what this chapter was if you didn't know. Did you like it? I liked the part where Sarah sort of got yelled at by Sherlock. Well I hope you liked it. BYE!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey people, what's up? Did any of you happen to catch Martin Freeman on the Graham Norton show? I heard and only seen a few parts and they were pretty funny. Any way the new chapter is here again. I have way too much time on my hands to really know what to do with. So I will update this then update my other story maybe later tonight if I finish it or most likely tomorrow. Well, I hope you like the chapter and I have a surprise for you at the other authors note down below. See ya.**

John didn't move any closer from his spot as he stared at the man in the hospital bed. "John," Sarah started but John put up his hand to stop her.

"Sarah I don't have time for you right now," he told her. "Please get out of the room; I need to talk privately with these men."

Sarah went to say something to him but stopped yet again by a glare from Sherlock. She took a step back slowly. "Fine, I'll be leaving then," she said as she walked out of the door.

John heard the click, quickly he took a step forward jabbing his finger in the other man's chest. "You said I wouldn't be bothered if we never saw each other again," he told him trying to keep himself calm.

Sherlock just stared at him with unwavering eyes. He didn't know what to tell John, the moment they were in contact with each other, even if they pretended like they didn't know each other, Moriarty took his chance. He got John involved because it was an easy move in their everlasting game. "What would you like me to tell you?" he asked finally in an uninterested tone. "That I'm sorry you're involved again?"

John smiled angrily, shaking his head. "No," he snapped. "I want you to tell me that you were wrong."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow up. "Wrong?" he questioned, he failed to remember any time he was wrong in his life.

John looked at the two other men in the room who were staring at them; he looked back at Sherlock before leaning in closer. "You know what you were wrong about," he stated in a harsh whisper.

Sherlock leaned back from the man two inches close to his face. "My Doctor Watson, are you still on that?" he asked with a laugh in the back of his throat. "That was ages ago, I forgotten all about it. We shouldn't dwell on it any longer."

John nodded his head; he clenched his fist turning around in a full circle. He sniffed nodding his head again. "Stand up," he ordered; his voice was too calm for how angry he looked.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, he may have looked like he was uninterested but raking his eyes over John too figure out what his actions might be.

"So when I hit you I won't feel bad for hitting a man in a hospital bed," John growled. Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes; he was shocked to say the least.

Lestrade decided it would be best to step in. He placed a hand on John's shoulder pulling him a little further from Sherlock. "Alright boys," he sighed, "we're not here to fight. We're here to solve a crime."

Mycroft nodded, he stood up from his chair only to pull on over for John. "Here Dr. Watson, sit down and cool off," he told him.

John wasn't entirely sure if he should have felt comforted by Mycroft's tone or scared of it. He bobbed his head anyway taking the seat comfortably. "Okay, what's the crime?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Sherlock smirked, if he still knew John Watson, and trust him he did, then he would have already forgotten about the fight they were just having. "Well I know Moriarty's behind it," he told them as if there was never a fight. "And given recent proof I'm sure you all now know Moriarty's behind it."

"So he's the killer," Lestrade cut in.

Sherlock gave him a look before saying, "No he's not the killer, but one of his men is." Lestrade waved his comment off. "John can you tell us anything about your encounter with Jim?"

John leaned forward in the chair putting his head in his hand. He rubbed his forehead slowly as if it would bring back every detail. "Well he called the hospital, told me there was a car waiting outside for me. I thought it might be him, but I didn't really give it much thought," he explained slowly. He huffed leaning back in the chair. "I saw a black car waiting outside for me and got in. I heard him say it's been so long since we last seen each other. I didn't see him anywhere in the car though, only a cell phone, which I assumed he was talking from. I think he's afraid of talking me face to face." In truth John was glad he was only met with a phone, he didn't think he could deal with seeing that man's face again.

"That's definitely not it," Sherlock told him. "He has bigger things to do than meet with you face to face, like planning the next murder."

"Do you have any idea where the next one might be?" Lestrade asked. "Maybe if we get there in time we could stop him, while saving a life in the process."

Sherlock thought quietly over where the next hit could be. He already formed a few theories on where it could be. He kept his eyes shut, possibilities flying past at a million miles per hour, only a few slowed down for him to examine. "There are only a few places that I think he'll use," he admitted after a while. "Then again this is Moriarty and he is unpredictable. He won't be anywhere near his last hits if he can help it, but he'll stay in the city." He listed off a few places that he thought were good places.

Lestrade slowly nodded up and down, he swallowed thickly before asking, "Is that all you can give us?"

"Yes," Sherlock simply told him. "If I could have been there I could probably have given you a better result."

Lestrade nodded again, it seemed to be the only thing he was doing lately. "Okay," he huffed tiredly, "I'll bring the information back to the Yard and see what they can do with it. I'll see you later then." He waved and left.

Mycroft stood from his chair gathering his jacket and umbrella in to his hands. "I'll be off too," he told both of them, "I have a very busy night to prepare for."

He was gone leaving the former friends alone. John tapped his fingers on the chair silently keeping his eyes adverted from Sherlock. He was tired, he wanted to go home so he could curl up on the couch, he wasn't going in the bedroom that he shared with Sarah just yet, and sleep till the next day. He knew that wasn't going to happen of course, he had work and now he was pulled in to the dance between Moriarty and Sherlock. Some place where he definitely didn't want to be.

"Sherlock," he breathed out quietly. "I don't want to be in this mess again." He swallowed hard, last time it didn't end well for either of them. "I don't want to have to deal with Moriarty; I have a good life that can't be interrupted because he wants you to play with him."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows slowly. "You're lying," he told him smoothly. "Your life as of last night has been going downhill."

"Yeah that's because of Moriarty," John stated sleepily. "I don't need this crap."

"Your girlfriend thinks you're cheating on her with me, even if she doesn't know it's me I've seen the picture she's using as her evidence," he told him getting off topic for a second. "You work at a hospital almost every day, and you go to therapy. Your life is dull, and if you're the John that I used to know you hate your life.

John sighed heavily. "Do you know what?" he asked. "I don't have to deal with this, I'm going to walk out of here and never see your face again." He stood up grabbing his cane to keep him steady. He looked down at Sherlock one last time. "Also I'm not the John you used to know, I've changed a lot. Some you can't even find." He straightened his back proudly before limping out of the room.

Once out in the hall he was grabbed by the arm. He turned around to see that it was just Sarah. "You were in there for a while," she pointed out. "What were you talking about?"

John shook his head. "I can't tell you," he said with an apologetic smile. "But I can tell you that I love you." He encircled her in his arms pulling her to his chest.

"If you love me then you can tell me who is in that picture," she told him.

John sighed and rested his forehead against hers. "That's a secret of mine that you shouldn't try to budge in to," he told her quietly. "But I can tell you what ever was between me and him died years ago, and will never come back." He hid the pain on his face as he felt something in his chest. To him that relationship didn't die years ago, he still held it with him every day. He wished that he could go back in time and erase Moriarty for ruining things.

"Are you sure?" Sarah asked bringing him back from his thoughts.

'No,' John thought but he said, "Yes I'm sure Sarah, I love you and only you."

**So did you like it? I bet you didn't like the last part to much. Any way here's my surprise; I saw that almost all of you were expecting Mycroft to show up, so I changed so it was unexpected. Ha, ha, ha I win. Yep, that's it really nothing more to add, except maybe this please oh wonderful friends of my go read Only the Dead Wait if you're a mystrade fan. If you aren't you don't have to read it, even if you did you still don't have to read it I'm not here to pressure you, and to tell you the truth I hate to advertise my other stories on here. I would like some more feedback for that but I'm too afraid to ask for it. Any way I'm done talking about that. Have a good time. BYE! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey all my Sherlockians, I would ask how you're doing but I know that would be the worst possible question to ask right now. So I'll just say this, I love you all. I wish every single one of you have a peaceful week ahead. Here is a chapter to maybe cheer you all up. See ya. **

Sherlock opened his eyes, the room was still dark and no one was around. He smirked, the nurses believed he fell asleep hours ago. He sat up making sure to stay silent so he wouldn't bring any attention to him. He skillfully took out his IV, having observed the doctors taking them out he knew how to do it, and stood from his bed. He reached under the mattress retrieving the clothes he had a "friend" of his bring in days ago.

He quickly changed in to the suit while keeping an eye on the door. He slipped on his jacket, smoothing out the sleeves so they weren't wrinkled. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses in the front pocket and shielded his eyes with them. He walked with a purpose out of the small room.

Sherlock was almost out of the hospital when there was a hand on his shoulder. He turned to the person schooling his face in to one of sadness. "Yes?" he asked making his voice crack.

"Are you a visitor here?" the nursed asked, her face softening.

Sherlock nodded, he took off his sunglasses showing off his new red eyes. "Yes," he repeated.

The nurse frowned. "I was only asking because you don't have a visitors badge on," she told him.

Sherlock looked down at his chest, he started laughing. "I forgot it back in his room," he said, more to himself than to her. "My little brother, he's very sick, took it. He wanted to play with it and I forgot to take it back from him."

The nurse's features softened even more, she patted his arm soothingly. "It's okay," she told him. Sherlock wiped the tears in his eyes before putting the sunglasses back on. "If I see the badge I'll just bring it back myself."

"Thank you," Sherlock sniffed. He smiled at her as she walked away. He walked out of the door in to the cool night. He took off the glasses, no longer needing them, and dropped them back in his front pocket.

-

Sherlock looked up at the building. He figured Lestrade would be in it considering that he told the DI that the building would most likely have the next attack. He opened the door and climbed to the second floor.

He saw the DI talking with one of his underlings. Sherlock casually strolled up to the older man taking the folder out of his hand. "No sign of the killer I presume," he said glancing over the information before handing it back to Lestrade, deeming the information dull and useless.

Lestrade looked at him in shock. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Sherlock waved his question off. "Have you checked any of the flats yet?" he asked instead. He looked around the hallway; there were about four flats on this floor. "These three are occupied, so there's only one that could be used up here."

Lestrade stared at him for a few more seconds before shaking himself back in to reality. He should have known by now that a few stitches wouldn't stop a Holmes from doing what he wanted. "Yeah that's the only one," he confirmed pointing to one door. "It's empty, we checked to see if there was anyone in there using the thermo binoculars before we even thought of entering. We've been blocking all entrances here and checking anyone who enters, along with the other flats that you told us about."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't you think that's stupid?" he asked stepping closer to the unoccupied flat. "If the killer see's you here he won't come to any of the address's I gave you and choose a new place. Unless of course he already came here behind your backs. Have you checked inside the flat since you've been here?"

Lestrade shook his head. "We've been here two days, no one has gone in there since we got here," he told him. "Sherlock we got this under control."

Sherlock turned to him giving him a bored look. "If you had things under control then why would you call me?" he asked. He leaned forward giving the door a closer look.

"If I didn't call you, you would go back to those retched drugs," Lestrade told him. "Speaking of which I need to check your flat sometime this week."

Sherlock rolled his eyes turning back to the DI. "I'm clean," he told him, he was tired of telling him that. "I have been for years and you know that." He went back to the door ignoring Lestrade. He sniffed the door before placing his hand on the handle. "There's someone in here."

Lestrade shook his head grabbing the consulting detective by the shoulder. "There isn't anyone in that flat Sherlock, we would have known if anyone went in that room.

Sherlock jerked his shoulder away from the man, he sniffed the air again. "Can't you smell that?" he yelled grabbing for the door again. He tried to turn the handle but it wouldn't budge.

"Sherlock, a tenant told us that that's a normal smell around here," Lestrade told him trying to pull away the younger man. "I've smelled that for two days now."

Sherlock turned to him with a snarl. "Why is this door locked?" he asked in a condescending tone. "There's someone in there dying right now and you're killing him Detective Inspector." He back up and threw his thin frame against the door. It didn't budge.

"Sherlock there is no one in there," Lestrade yelled grabbing for the suit jacket. He caught hold of the fine fabric and yanked him backwards. "I'm escorting you out of here and back to the hospital."

Sherlock tried to rip himself free but Lestrade had a good hold on him. "Let go," he growled.

They were both jerked out of their struggle when the door was kicked in. They watched as John turned to them. Lestrade could see a man tied to a chair with a mask covering his face.

"John," Sherlock sighed. He pulled himself away from Lestrade and stepped towards the door. "Lestrade the man in that room is being poisoned, that's what you've smelled this whole time. You have to get him out, but we can't get him out without checking for traps. We don't want another destruction of evidence do we?"

Lestrade looked at him with wide eyes; he quickly covered his face with his jacket. "Everyone, cover your faces we got poison in the air," he yelled to his men.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You've been breathing in small amounts for two days, you're okay for now," he told him. "Send everyone outside to clear their lungs, call an ambulance. I'll search the room for any traps before I send John in to excess the damage done to the victim."

Lestrade shook his head. "You are not allowed to go in there alone," he told him sternly. "Everyone out of the building, get the tenants out also, someone call for an ambulance. You all need to be checked out."

Everyone but the three men exited the building. Sherlock stared at Lestrade waiting for his approval to proceed. Lestrade stepped forward nodding his head. "Let's see," he told him.

Sherlock smiled a little before scanning over the room. At first glance he couldn't see any trip wires or traps. He stepped further in to the room, covering his mouth and nose to keep from getting any poison in his lungs. "There's nothing in here," he announced after he checked. "John you can come in."

John walked in just as Sherlock was shutting off the main source of the poison that was going directly in to the man through the mask he was wearing. John took it off and started to look over the man. He was alive, but his pulse was slow, he almost didn't feel it. "He's still alive," he told the other two.

Sherlock bent down so he was level with John. "The poison is low grade, you'll only die if you get too much in your lungs," Sherlock informed him. "If he's alive now that means he was brought in here recently."

John casted him a look before getting back to his checkup. "So you took drugs?" he asked, trying not to sound like he cared. He looked in to the man's eyes with a little light.

"Not important," Sherlock told him. He stood up abruptly and started looking around the room. "What's more important is how we are going to find Moriarty."

John sighed. "I need to move him outside," he told them. He went to lift him off the chair when he heard a faint click. He stopped immediately; he shot his eyes to Sherlock taking in a few deep breaths. "There's a bomb attached to his chair, if I lift him any hire or put him down it will go off."

Sherlock whipped his head to him cursing himself. "How did I not see that?" he asked. He went over to the chair and looked underneath. "Of course."

"I'll call bomb squad," Lestrade said from the side.

John kept the man elevated. "I knew I shouldn't have followed you," he groaned. "Where ever you go there is danger, whether it is a crazed teen with a gun or a mad man with a bomb."

Sherlock looked over at him with a smirk; he wasn't going to tell him that it was a mad man with an army at his disposal. "It's fun though," he said with a gleeful tone. John shut his eyes, he thought it would be best to ignore the lunatic on his left and just concentrate on not moving. Sherlock turned away from him and started looking around for anything that could tell him who put the man in there. He stood up with a sigh. "There's nothing that I can find."

"Good for you," John grunted through his discomfort. His arms were growing more tired by the second; the man wasn't a lightweight at all. His phone started to ring in his pocket. He mumbled something incoherent.

"Aren't you going to get that Dr. Watson?" Sherlock asked with a smile.

"If you haven't noticed this is a serious situation Sherlock," John told him, "so if you could stop acting like a child that would be great."

Suddenly Sherlock's face became cold. "I know this is a serious," he snapped.

"Well then if you know this is serious why are you cracking jokes?" John asked.

Sherlock came closer; John could see something in his eye. "Because it's easier to make jokes than have the seriousness of the situation hanging in the room," he explained.

John wished he could look towards the man but knew if he did he would shift and possible set off the bomb. "That doesn't sound like you," he stated. "What happened to the man in the hospital who didn't care?"

Sherlock looked down at him. He thought about the question for a bit. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked instead of answering.

"What?" John asked. His back was started to hurt. He knew he was going to be feeling this in the morning. 'If I ever make it to the morning,' he thought dreadfully to himself.

"Well, your psychosomatic limp had to come somewhere," Sherlock stated simply.

John rolled his eyes. "How do you know it's psychosomatic and not real?" he asked. He heard Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Okay you don't have to tell me."

"You kicked down a door, of course you limp is psychosomatic," he pointed out. "So, Afghanistan or Iraq?" John opened his mouth looking ready to ask another question. "You're tan but not above the wrists, also the way you hold yourself and the way your hair is cut says military. Will you answer the question now?"

John opened his mouth but was interrupted when the guys from bomb squad came in. They ordered Sherlock to leave the room, and, to John's surprise, he obeyed. They told John not to panic as they went to work on disarming the bomb.

-

Sherlock waited outside, he was by the paramedics getting a small checkup to make sure that he wasn't dying. He rolled his eyes when they were done with him; he told them that he was fine; he put worst things in himself than the stuff he was just breathing in.

He glanced up at the second floor window where he knew John was. Lestrade walked next to him, looking where he was. "We checked out the flat where the guy told us that smell was normal," he said. "It turns out he was paid to do so, didn't know who paid him off though."

"Typical," Sherlock drawled. "Moriarty is behind all of this, he makes sure no one sees his face."

"But you," Lestrade added for him.

Sherlock nodded his head. "When he started coming after me, his initial intent was to recruit me on to his team," he told. "Now everything he does is to stop me, I'm getting in his way."

Lestrade bit his lip and nodded. "That makes sense," he laughed, "you get in the way of a lot of people. I'm surprised more of us don't try to kill you."

Sherlock turned to him with a smile in place. "If anyone was able to kill me it would be Moriarty," he stated. John coming out of the building caught his eye. He left the DI's side and walked up to the short blond. "Also I knew you would walk in your father's steps, even though you didn't like him much."

John looked at him; confusion was the only thing on his face. "What?" he asked through a ragged breath.

Sherlock figured he stopped breathing when the bomb was being disarmed. "How I know you were in the military," he explained his reasoning. He looked down at him with a smile. "Afghanistan or Iraq?" he asked again.

John shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. "Afghanistan," he answered. His phone started ringing again. He sighed heavily and grabbed it from his pocket. "Are you satisfied with that answer, or would you like a detailed story on what happened there? Hello?"

"John where are you?" Sarah's voice was loud over the phone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Tell her you almost died," he told John.

"I'm out with an old friend of mine," John told Sarah, opting to ignore Sherlock's suggestions.

"You told me you were going straight home when you left the hospital," she told him.

John sighed; he ran his hand over his face tiredly. "Yeah, well I saw him on my way home and we got together over a few beers," he lied. He didn't just survive a bomb crisis to get yelled at by his girlfriend. "Hey, Sarah I have to go."

"What?" she asked.

"I'll talk to you later bye," he said quickly before hitting end. He dropped it back in to his pocket after he shut it off for good measure. He looked up to Sherlock, licking his lips nervously. "Don't get used to me coming around. This is the only time I'll show up to help you. I'm a doctor and wanted to make sure you were okay."

Sherlock nodded. "I understand John," he said. "I'll be off then. I got more things to deal with. Goodbye John, nice seeing you again," he yelled over his shoulder at he walked away.

"Goodbye Sherlock Holmes," John called after him.

Sherlock knowingly smirked. He had a good feeling that he was going to be seeing John again, and soon too.

**Well that was that chapter. We all knew that John couldn't keep away from the amazing Sherlock Holmes. I hope you enjoyed it. BYE!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, finally I'm going to be getting this chapter up. I had no clue what to do with it at all. Oh well, here it is. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.**

John was finally starting to get on Sarah's good side. One more home cooked meal and a couple more back rubs before bed and he should be fine. He wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa any more, and he hated the sofa. He figured sofa's weren't made for pleasure at all, they were made to torture all men, even the ones that did nothing wrong. Although if he thought about it, if he was giving the woman a back massage before bed every night something should have happened and he should have been back in the bedroom days ago.

John switched off the television and lazily flopped back down on the sofa. He still had two hours before he had to go to work, he didn't want to spend it awake. He shut his eyes again, hoping not to have another dream like he did last time. He laid on his back listening to himself breathe, and the wall clock ticking away. He heard his phone's alert go off. He sat up and looked in the direction where the phone lay on the kitchen counter charging. He got up, rubbing his shoulder to make it stop hurting, and slipped in to the kitchen. He shivered as the cold tile touched his feet.

**We need to talk –SH**

John looked at the message for a minute before he actually knew what it said. A week later after seeing Sherlock and now he was getting a text from him. He remembered telling the genius that he wasn't going to be seeing him again. He unplugged the phone and started texting back as he got out some bread.

**Why –John Watson**

He almost put his phone in the toaster but stopped himself before he did. He shook his head trying to wake himself up so he could properly make toast for himself. He yawned and ran his fingers through his messy hair. He needed a shower, but it would have to wait unless he wanted to wake Sarah up.

His phone beeped again as the toast popped up. He ignored the device as he started spreading the jam over his breakfast. He grabbed the two pieces of toaster bread and brought them back to the sofa. He put them down on the coffee table before taking out his phone again.

**I need to ask you some questions –SH**

John rolled his eyes and dropped the phone next to him on the couch. He started eating his toast, slowly so he didn't text back straight away. It took him ten minutes to finish eating. He picked up his phone again and read the text on more time before answering.

**And you believe 4:45 in the morning would be a good time –John Watson**

He left his phone on the couch as he got up. He waddled his way to the bathroom, making sure not to let it squeak on its hinges. He went to the bathroom, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He knew what he was doing, he was making Sherlock wait for his reply. He knew it was a very bad way of getting back revenge but he was tired.

He padded back in to the living room and fell back on the couch. He picked up his phone and read the message that was waiting for him.

**You're the one that replied. So will you meet me? –SH**

John heaved a sigh. He turned the phone over in his hand for a moment, thinking of a reply. He guessed he could go meet the guy on his lunch break later that day.

**I guess –John Watson**

He stretched his legs out on to the coffee table and wiggled his toes. He laughed at an old memory from when he was younger. He was out playing in the rain with his sister. He stepped in a big mud puddle and of came his shoe, he tripped and fell on his back. He remembered that he raised his feet to the sky and let the rain wash them of until his mother yelled at them and made them come inside.

His phone chirped, bringing him out of his thoughts. He read the text message and groaned.

**I'm outside –SH**

John stood up; he put on his shoes and grabbed his coat. Against his better judgment he opened the door and walked outside. He saw Sherlock standing by the lamp post casually waiting for him. John huffed, moving forward to meet the mad man. "What are you doing outside my home?" he asked tiredly.

Sherlock looked at him with a smile. "What did Moriarty say to you when he picked you up?" he went head first in to the first question.

John shoved his hands in his pocket and tilted his head up to the night sky in thought. He watched the clouds move over the moon for a minute before nodding and looking back to Sherlock. "He told me that we could finally play again. Not that he wanted to play with me of course, he was just trying to get to you through me," he told. "Although, I only saw you for barely a minute I don't know how he would have known. Also it's not like I was going to meet up with you again after that brief moment."

"He's Moriarty, he has his ways of knowing what happens in my life along with one's I'm close to," Sherlock informed him. He started walking, slowly to so John would be able to keep up. "He knew if he got a hold of you somehow then you would come to me."

John started laughing. He shook his head. "I told him I wasn't going to you," he said. He looked over at Sherlock. "That is til he started threatening lives if I didn't tell you." He shivered as the wind started to blow. He knew walking outside in your pajamas was a bad idea. "That's really all he said."

Sherlock nodded. He was silent for a while as he thought. "Did he ask you anything that happened to you in Afghanistan?" he asked.

John looked at him confused before realization set in. "Well not really, he asked me how my shoulder was," he told him. He bit his lip as he thought. "How did he know about my shoulder?"

"So, Jim isn't playing that card yet," Sherlock mumbled to himself.

John furrowed his eyebrows as he looked up at Sherlock. "What do you mean he hasn't played that card?" he asked. "Are you keeping something from me?"

"Moriarty wants you to join in on his games again John," Sherlock told him, ignoring the questions swiftly. "He wants you to become a distraction for me so he can get me. He wants me to slip up because of you."

"Then why don't you just leave me alone?" John asked. He stopped walking and waited for Sherlock to respond. "I mean, it would make everything easier wouldn't it? Leave me behind like you did last time."

Sherlock turned on his heel, he look John straight in the eye. John straightened his back and lifted his chin high under the intense gaze. "Don't make this personal John," he said. "This isn't about you, or even me. This is about Moriarty. Even if I leave you behind he'll still get at you, and make things happen to you that will distract me. He won't leave you alone even if you move out of this country. He won't leave any of us alone until he's had his fun and gets bored with us. Then he'll most likely get us killed."

"Then stop him," John suggested in a rough tone. "Stop him before he can stop you, it's that simple."

Sherlock scratched his head agitatedly. "I've been trying for years," he almost yelled. "I've been working for years to get him, but when I get close something always happens and throws everything in to the water." He started pacing the sidewalk in front of John, trying to think of anything that could help.

Sitting down on the rock wall behind him, John sighed; he dropped his head in to his hands. "Maybe we can just kill him," he groaned. "Just shoot the man and be done with it."

Sherlock stopped pacing and pointed at John. "That's a brilliant idea," he told him.

John looked at him in disbelief. He couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or was genuinely considering the idea. It wasn't a real idea of course, he was just saying it. He would be surprised if Sherlock was even considering it. "Really?" he asked.

Sherlock threw his hands up in the air. "Of course not," he hollered. "Don't be daft that's the worst thing you could ever think of. Now, let's leave your idiot ideas out of this."

"Thanks," John grumbled.

Sherlock started pacing, he was silent for the most part but occasionally he would mumble something to himself. John just sat there and watched, like he used to.

If John would admit it, he would say that he still loved the crazy guy pacing in front of him on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. He wished he stayed with him, told that his stupid idea was stupid. That he was never going to let some psychopath push him away.

John blinked a few times; he just noticed he hasn't blinked for the last few minutes. He saw that Sherlock was now staring at him. "What?" he asked his eyes wide with innocence.

"Would you like some tea?" Sherlock asked glancing at his watch. "My flats just up the street."

John stood up. "I should really be getting home," he started, "if Sarah doesn't wake up next to me she'll freak, especially if she can't find me." He lied; well most of it was true, she would freak out if she couldn't find John at home.

"Is that why you were sleeping on the sofa?" Sherlock asked with a knowing smirk. He walked away with John on his heels.

-

John looked at the door leading in to Sherlock's building. "221 B?" he asked with a big smile on his face.

"Completely unintentional," Sherlock said while he unlocked the door. "Mrs. Hudson got me a discount price on it."

John looked at him with his mouth open. "Mrs. Hudson lives here?" he asked happily. "Someone told me she might have died."

Sherlock started to laugh. "Mrs. Hudson, die? She can't die John, you should know that," he said.

John started laughing along with him. He followed him up the stairs and in to his sitting room. He looked around, taking in everything. He noticed on the mantel was the skull. He walked over to it and ran his fingers over the bone. "I can't believe you still have this thing," he let out.

Sherlock smiled over at him as he walked in to the kitchen. "My flatmate's asleep, so be as loud as you want," he said.

John laughed. "Is this how you drive out all the people who live with you?" he asked jokingly. He walked over to the window overlooking the street below; he watched a few cars go by til he saw a police car pull up. He watched as the familiar looking officer step out of the vehicle and up to the door. "You police buddy is here," he threw over his shoulder.

"I know," Sherlock told him as he walked back in to the living room. "I received a text from him moments ago. He requires my assistance on a case."

John nodded, he bit his lip and darted his eyes around the room. "Well, then I should get going shouldn't I?" he said and started for the door.

Sherlock grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Join me," he said. John looked him in the eye, swallowing a big lump in his throat. "I need an assistant."

John let out a disappointed sighed before shaking his head. He freed his arm from the loose grip. "I have to go to work in an hour, if I don't get home now I won't have time to eat breakfast and shower," he told him.

"You already had breakfast," Sherlock pointed out. "I can still see crumbs on your shirt, and you only take a fifteen minute shower and most." John shook his head again and walked out of the flat, bypassing Lestrade.

-

John was almost back to his flat when he got a text. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the message.

**Regents Park, triple homicide, you coming? -SH **

John stopped in the middle of the pavement, staring at the text. He was having an internal war with himself, he wanted to go but then again he needed to go to work. He pocketed his phone again, telling himself that he just needed to ignore Sherlock and get on with his day.

His phone beeped again.

**Could be dangerous –SH**

John shut his eyes; he tried to keep his urge to go under control. He looked down at the message again as his breathing became ragged, it was too hard to resist. He dropped his phone in to his pocket and started sprinting towards his flat.

He reached the flat within ten minutes. He quickly unlocked his door and bolted in to the living room. Sarah was sitting on the couch staring at him wide eyed. "Where have you been?" she asked standing up to meet his eyes properly.

John smiled, his heart was thumping in his chest, and he could already feel the thrill of a case running through his veins. He started laughing; three little words could do this make him feel so alive, it was unbelievable. "I'm going out," he told her in passing. He quickly threw on some clothes besides his pajamas and went over to his desk. He looked behind him to make sure Sarah wasn't around and he opened the draw. He took out his laptop and grabbed the gun hidden underneath. If he knew what Sherlock's dangerous meant then he would definitely need the firearm. He tucked the hand gun in the waist band of his pants and hid it with his shirt.

He jogged out of the bedroom and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" Sarah asked following him out to the stairs. "And where's your cane?"

John stopped and turned to look up at her from the bottom step. "Honey, I don't need the cane," he told her and rushed out of the building.

-

John reached the park ten minutes later. It didn't take him long to find out where Sherlock would be, all he had to do was look for the police caution tape. He walked up to it and saw a familiar face waiting on the outskirts of the tape. He walked up to her with a smile. "Hey Sally," he said. He looked around behind her and saw Sherlock leaning over something.

Sally's jaw dropped. "John Watson," she sighed, "still following the freak I see."

John's smile faltered for a second but he shook his head. "I see you are still a child," he shot back at here.

"Ah, John you made it," Sherlock said, breaking up the feud to be. He lifted up the tape so John could pass under. "Come along."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sally stopped John in his tracks. "I can't let him on this scene. I don't even think we should allow you around here, but Lestrade still believes that you're good for something."

"I got Lestrade's permission to have John on the scene," Sherlock told her. He could see her jaw clench, but she dropped her hand and let John pass.

They walked up to Lestrade who was kneeling next the three bodies. "Sherlock, do you have any ideas yet?" he asked standing up when he heard the man's footsteps. He turned around and spotted John. "What's he doing here?"

John dropped his head in his hand. "Of course you didn't ask," he mumbled to himself. He looked back up to Lestrade with an apologizing look. "I'll leave if you want me to," he reluctantly told him.

Sherlock gave him a pointed look before looking at the Detective Inspector. "He's with me," he told him plainly and pushed pass the older man.

Lestrade shut his eyes and seemed to be counting down from ten under his breath. "Sherlock, you can't just bring in whoever you like on to my crime scenes," he told him, but he didn't sound like he was putting up much of a fight.

"Yes, but you need me, and I need him so ergo, you need him," Sherlock told him.

Lestrade heaved a sigh that only an over worked and unappreciated man could heave. "Yes I do," he groaned. "You free to do as he says."

John frowned at him again. He turned to look at the scene that Sherlock was examining. Three women were tied by the hands and feet, thrown in to a ditch hidden by bushes. Each of them wearing a black dress, they had red lipstick all around their lips and black eye makeup was covering the eyes, as if a child had done it.

He watched as Sherlock looked over a few more things before standing up and looking at him. John looked at him surprised. "What?" he asked.

"Dr. Watson, can you look at the bodies for me?" Sherlock asked.

John, still wide eyed, nodded and bent down next to the three ladies. "I would say they were killed by the multiple stab wounds," he started.

"But…" Sherlock pushed.

John leaned in close and sniffed their mouths. "There's definitely a strong smell of," he paused, "bleach." He looked up at Sherlock to see if that was the right thing, Sherlock was smiling down towards him.

"Exactly," Sherlock exclaimed. "The killer killed these three women with bleach. He stabbed them after they died. Maybe to throw everyone off, but that's an idiotic way of doing it."

"I think we have a possible serial killer on our hands," a guy said in a squeaky high voice.

Sherlock dropped his head and sighed dramatically. "Broker, why don't you leave your opinions at home from now on," he told him. "We don't know, whether this is the work of a serial killer or not."

'You probably know,' John thought to himself. He shifted his eyes over to the Broker guy, he looked oddly familiar. He leaned closer to Sherlock and whispered, "How come I feel like I've seen that guy before?"

Sherlock glanced at him then over to Broker. "He's Anderson's son," he told him then went back to work.

"Anderson was allowed to have kids?" John burst out laughing. He immediately covered his mouth as his face became red. "I'm sorry," he got out over his small bout of giggles.

Broker narrowed his eyes and glared at John. "Try and act professional, we are on a crime scene," he snarled at him.

Sherlock stood up. "The past follows us everywhere," he said and waltzed away. John quickly jogged to catch up with him. "You can see that they dragged each body from over here." He was pointing to the ground where the evidence lay.

"They?" John questioned. He kept his eyes on the ground, trying to see what Sherlock was seeing.

"Yes, they," Sherlock told him. "You can see there are two different types of shoes. They're roughly the same size at each other but the grooves on the bottom give them away. These prints look agitated; you can see in the way it kept slipping, as the other set are firm." Sherlock stopped suddenly and bent down. He moved some dirt away with his fingers.

John peered over his shoulder trying to see what it was. "What is it?" he asked.

Sherlock was silent for a moment as he examined the gold makeup mirror. He turned it over and over again in his gloved fingers. He flipped it open in his hand and looked at his reflection in the small mirror before shutting it again. He stood up abruptly and sauntered over to where Lestrade was standing. "Have we got an ID on them yet?" he asked.

Lestrade shook his head. "We won't hear anything until we get their blood work to the lab," he told him. "Did you find anything?"

Sherlock twirled in a circle, gazing at everything before he settled back on Lestrade. "There were two people working on this hit," he started, "one of them was the initial killer, the other most likely stumbled in when the victims were being attacked. The one that stumbled in was probably a close relative or friend, not many strangers will help try to dispose of a body, let alone three.

Now that brings us to this. This mirror could be one of the victims, but they're all wearing the same type of dress, same type of makeup, they wouldn't have these things on them here. It was found to far away from where the car was parked so it couldn't have simple just fallen out, so it was on one of the men."

"Brilliant," John breathed out.

Sherlock turned to him with a smirk. "How do you know he didn't just take it from one of the victims?" Lestrade asked.

"These women are 40 to 50 years old," Sherlock pointed out. "This mirror's flashy, too flashy for these women. Their nails are manicured but not to the point where they're trying to show off."

"Fantastic," John let out another compliment. Sherlock turned to him again and gave him a look. John looked down with red cheeks. "Sorry."

"No its fine," he told him.

Lestrade cleared his throat loudly. "Is that all?" he asked.

Sherlock flipped the mirror over, close to Lestrade's face. "There's also initials engraved on the bottom," he pointed out.

"K.L.J.," Lestrade read aloud.

Sherlock nodded sharply and handed the DI the object. "That is all I have so far Inspector," he told him. "Dr. Watson and I are off." With that he swept of the scene.

John looked at Lestrade momentarily before turning his head to the genius walking away from him. "Good day Inspector," he called over his shoulder as he tried to catch up with Sherlock's long stride.

-

John followed Sherlock up the stairs of 221 B like it was normal. "So, when you said 'could be dangerous' were you just trying to get me out there?" he asked as they stepped in to the living room.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Exactly," he laughed. "How about that tea now?" He took off his jacket and scarf, dropping them on the chair before heading in to the kitchen.

John sat down in a chair and started impatiently tapping his fingers. He could hear Sherlock shuffling around in the kitchen. John stood up again and wandered in to the kitchen. He looked at all the science equipment covering the table and counters with a small smile. "I see you've expanded your inventory," he mumbled.

Sherlock nodded. He walked up to one of the things splayed out on the counter and tinkered with it. "I work on experiments that are required for my work," he told him. He looked leaned over a microscope and looked through it.

John scuffed the floor with his shoe, he dropped his head. "Sherlock," he sighed. He looked back up to see the man looking back at him. He was closer than before, John noted. He swallowed hard and started biting his lip. "I…"

Sherlock moved closer, he watched as John's eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid any eye contact. John's hand rose to touch his shoulder.

"Sherlock!" someone yelled.

John stepped away from Sherlock quickly and looking the direction of the yell. A man walked in looking very angry. "Gary," Sherlock droned, "I see you finally woke up."

Gary's breathing became ragged as he clenched his fist at his side. "Why is there a dead pig in the tub?" he hollered.

"Experiment," Sherlock told him, sounding annoyed.

"An experi-" Gary started but stopped himself. He ran his hands through his hair. "I figured you were crazy, but not this crazy." He put his hands up in disbelief. "I'm leaving; I can't stand this any longer." He walked out of the room cursing at Sherlock's name.

"It's only been a week, and he's already moving out," Sherlock mumbled. "I'm surprised he lasted this long." He looked over to John who was staring at his hands.

John suddenly looked up towards Sherlock with a forced smile. "I better get going," he stated, dropping his gaze again. "Sarah might want an explanation on what I was doing today." He glanced at Sherlock once more before walking out of the flat.

**I hope you guys liked it. It took me longer than usual to write this. It took all last night and all this afternoon to get this done. It took hours just to write a sentence. Well, if you like it you know what to do. BYE!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, what's up? Guess what. I have a new chapter for you guys. There is one thing I want to warn you guys about. When Sherlock and John get back together this series will be over, I'm sorry if that makes you sad. Well I hope you guy like this. See ya.**

Sherlock sat silently in his chair, his fingertips touching under his chin. His eyes were shut as he thought about the case he was on. Lestrade contacted him a little while ago with the names of the three victims; none of their initials matched the golden makeup mirror. He told the DI that they wouldn't, he didn't know why the man just didn't take his word for it.

He didn't have much to go on, but he solved a case with less evidence before. He knew the victims were definitely killed by the excess amount of bleach that was forced in to them and then stabbed as an afterthought. He wasn't sure why they were stabbed after they were dead; it seemed to be a useless thing to do.

Then he went on to their attire. The three women were all wearing the same black dress, with the same makeup. The makeup also looked like a child has done it. He thought of different reasons why they could be dressed like that. He went through a list of cult rituals and religious rituals in his head, finding nothing that matched. He expanded his search to certain countries that could dress their people like that. His search came up empty again.

Sherlock let out a frustrated yell as he pulled at his hair. "Oh, don't worry dearie," Mrs. Hudson said from where she was in the background cleaning, "you'll find the killer. All you need is a good lead and you'll be on your way."

Sherlock shot up out of his chair and spun around to look at her. "Mrs. Hudson, are you up for a stroll?" he let out.

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "I can't," she told him. She placed her hand on her hip and stated, "You know my hip."

Sherlock grabbed his coat and threw it on; he picked his scarf off the back of his chair and wound it around his neck. "Well, then I guess I'll have to go alone," he said. "If I get any visitors just send them up and tell them I'll be with them soon."

"What kind of visitors?" Mrs. Hudson called down to the energetic man at her door.

Sherlock paused and looked up at her with a smile. "Who knows Mrs. Hudson, who knows," he laughed as he left.

**123**

Sherlock walked into Lestrade's office, making sure not to knock the DI's door like always and sat down in the chair across the older man. He tapped his fingers impatiently against his leg as he waited for Lestrade to get off the phone. He hummed to himself as he scanned the wooden desk. He saw an open case file and leaned forward. He grabbed the edges of it but Lestrade quickly shut it.

"Listen I got to go," Lestrade said to the other person, "a child just came in to my office. Yeah, he was hit over the head. I know tragic, bye." He hung up the phone and glared at the consulting detective.

"I was never hit over the head," Sherlock told him.

"Oh you didn't know," Lestrade said, "I can see into the future."

Sherlock ignored him. "Have you found anything in common with the three women?" he asked.

Lestrade nodded, he did something on his computer before turning the monitor to face Sherlock. "They all went to the same school," he informed him.

"You contacted their families and found out that they were all best friends," Sherlock said as he leaned closer to the desk. He scrolled down looking at the list of student's names. "I can work with that," he mumbled to himself. He couldn't find a girl with the initials that were on the mirror, there was only a few that were almost close to them but that didn't help him now.

"How did you know they were all best friends?" Lestrade asked. "We only just found out an hour ago."

"Not important right now," Sherlock told him, not taking his eyes off the screen. "The owner of the mirror didn't go to the school."

Lestrade swiveled the monitor back around so he could see. "We searched through any records of that school; there was no girl with the initials that ever attended that school."

Sherlock leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes. Lestrade's words bounced around his head, suddenly they stopped and a few words were highlighted in his mind. He quickly got up out of the chair and maneuvered around the desk. "No girl with those initials," he said.

Lestrade leaned away from Sherlock's torso. "What are you going on about Sherlock?" he asked.

Sherlock scrolled down the page and stopped at one name. His phone started ringing; he pulled it out of his pocket not even moving. "Hello?" he answered.

"Sherlock there's a young man here," Mrs. Hudson told him. "He told me to call you. He's being very impatient."

"What's his name?" he asked.

It was silent on the other end for a moment. "Brian Jackman," she told him. "He says that he has some very urgent things to talk with you about."

"I'll be right there," Sherlock said down the line and hung up. He quickly stood and virtually flew out of the room.

**456**

Sherlock jumped up the steps excitably. He reached the door and swung it open; inside was Mrs. Hudson standing behind a jittery looking man. "Mr. Jackman," he said, making sure to keep his excitement out of his voice. He strode further into the room, dropping his coat and scarf on its hook behind the door, and slipped into the seat across from the man. "What can I help you with?" He flashed him a faux smile, if he learned anything from talking with people; it's that they responded better when someone was smiling at them.

Brian played with a pocket knife, flipping it open and closing it again. "Well," he said in a scratchy voice, "my little brother might be in some trouble."

Sherlock's eyes never left the blade in the man's hand. "What kind of trouble?" he asked.

Brian licked his lips a few times, his eyes traveling around the room at a high speed. "He's being framed," he told him.

"How so?"

Brian reached his hand in to his pocket and pulled out a stack of pictures. "It has photo shopped pictures of my brother, Jimmy, carrying a body out of our house," he said. He handed the pictures over to Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced over them. He hummed and dropped them on the arm rest. He put his hands together under his chin and stared at the other man, making him twitch in his seat a little. "Tell me Brian, how's your father?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Brian pulled a face and sat further back in the chair. "My dad?" he questioned. Sherlock gave him a sharp nod. "He died three years ago, committed suicide."

"You don't seem that broken up about it," Sherlock pointed out.

"I'm not here about my dad," Brian growled. "I'm here because Jimmy is being accused of killing someone."

Sherlock picked up the pictures again and rifled through them. "Why would you bring these to me?" he asked. "If you're worried about your brother you should have gone to the police not me. Do you want to know why?"

Brian looked at him with wide eyes. "Why?" he asked.

Sherlock stood up; he grabbed a mug off the coffee table and started tossing in between his hands. "Well let's start from the beginning," he said as he started pacing in front of Brian. "Your father…"

"I'm not here for my father," Brian snapped.

Sherlock held his hand up to stop him. "Please don't interrupt," he told him. "Now, your father committed suicide three years ago, why?" Brian was quiet. "You can talk now."

Brian scowled at him but said, "Emotions from the past or some crap."

Sherlock chuckled to himself. "You're making this too easy," he whispered. "You didn't like your dad much; you speak about him in such an ill manner. Why don't you like you father? Was it because he didn't take you to that one place you wanted to go to as a kid, or was it because he didn't treat you like he treated your younger brother?"

"He wasn't a man," Brian broke Sherlock off. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he opened his mouth about to ask another question but Brian started again. "He wore dresses; only women are allowed to wear dresses, not men. I couldn't look up to him, it was just embarrassing. I never brought any friends over, never allowed my teachers to ask for parent teacher conferences, it was sickening. Almost every day I saw him wear one, he would prance around the house saying the blue dress matched his eyes." His grip on his pocket knife tightened. "I couldn't stand it anymore."

Sherlock nodded when the rant was over. He started pacing again and tossing the cup. "Your brother loved his father, he didn't care that he wore dresses," he said.

"He adored dad," Brian mumbled quietly.

Sherlock caught the cup in one hand and pointed it towards Brian. "And that's why he killed the three women isn't it?" he asked. "From the note that was left by your dad for his suicide he figured out who mocked his father the most. Those three ladies always made fun of him for the way he acted and dressed."

"How do you know what my dad's note said?" Brian asked.

"Well three women found dead in the park, all of them friends at the same school your dad went to, it wasn't a hard leap from there," Sherlock told him. He stopped pacing and leaned in close to Brian. "What I'm more concerned about is why you didn't comment about me saying your brother killed those women." Brian looked shocked; he opened and closed his mouth quickly, trying to think of what to say.

"That brings us up to these pictures," Sherlock said, he picked up the stack and flicked one at Brian. "These aren't photo shopped, you took them."

Brian stood up abruptly. "I did not, someone else did and changed it around," he yelled. "Jimmy is not a killer."

"Only one part of that sentence is true," Sherlock stated happily. "Your brother is not a killer, you are. You took those pictures and you're trying to frame your brother with a murder."

Brian ground his teeth together. "I don't know what you're trying to imply Mr. Holmes," he said, his voice lowering as he tried to sound intimidating, "but I would stop it right now."

Sherlock casually smiled at him. "I'm not going to stop for another two minutes," he told him. "You made a few mistakes Mr. Jackman. The first big one was coming to me; the second is bringing your pocket knife to my flat."

Brian quickly covered his pocket knife with his hand. "I don't know why that's a mistake, it keeps me calm when I have it," he told him. "I never go anywhere without it."

Sherlock heard a car door close outside the flat and he smiled. "What was your father wearing when he killed himself?" he asked.

Brian scowled again. "A black dress," he informed him. "He had makeup all over his face. I hated him even more that day. All he had to do was wear something normal."

Sherlock nodded, he sat down gracefully in his chair. "You killed your father," he stated confidently, like he usually did when he was talking about a case. "He never wrote that note, well he did but you forced him to with your knife at his throat. You made sure that your brother read the note, after you "found" your dad's body hanging in his room, so he would know who tormented your dad in his younger years. Then when you got the opportunity you killed the three women. You made sure they were wearing the same dress that your dad was wearing the same day he died, it was to look like your brother wanted them to suffer the way you dad did. You poured bleach down their throats, that killed them but you couldn't resist and stabbed them with your pocket knife after they were dead. You then had your brother help you carry the bodies out to the car, you told him the bodies were just found in the basement and you didn't know how they got there. You took the pictures without him knowing and are using them to frame your brother. Then you were going to kill your brother and make that look like a suicide. You were going to blame his death on the pressure from the police, who are going to get a lead from an anonymous source, claiming that they seen Jimmy dragging bodies through the park." He took in a deep breath and watched as Brian's face fell and he looked defeated. "Did I get anything wrong?"

Brian ran his fingers over his face, pulling at the skin a little as he went down. "Nothing Mr. Holmes," he whispered.

Sherlock smiled over at him. "You can come in now Lestrade," he called to the figure in the door. "You can take him back for your own questioning."

Lestrade stepped in to the room. He placed his hand on Brian's shoulder. "Mr. Jackman you are under arrest," he said. Brian stood up slowly and shook his head. Lestrade lead him out of the flat after he cuffed him.

Sherlock sighed when he heard the door slam shut. "Well there goes my fun for the week," he mumbled. His phone beeped and he picked it out of his pocket.

**I want to meet –John Watson**

**Well I hope you guys liked it. I don't know what else to say. Oh yeah, review to tell me what you think. Also I was joking about this ending when Sherlock and John officially get back together; because when that happens it will be the start of something new. I also want to mention that my breaks haven't been showing up! Why was no one telling me about that? I totally thought they were. Yeah that's all. BYE!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Well here's the new chapter. I hope y'all like it. I'm rooting for you all to like it so don't make me go home empty handed, I want the championship, and maybe cookies. Anyway, I hope you enjoy your reading; it will start momentarily, so please keep your arms and legs inside the fic at all times and have fun. See ya. **

John pulled the rubber gloves off of his hands, leaving behind the funny feeling they always did whenever he wore them. He threw them into the bin and walked out of the room to his office. He fell tiredly in to his chair, making it roll backwards into the wall behind him. He dropped his head back and sighed; he shut his eyes and took a few seconds to let the warm sun's beams fall on his face. He needed a moment to relax.

He started work the night before at two in the morning and now it was seven the next night, he was ready to go home and crawl into bed. He was ready to not wake up until he was growing a beard five days old. He dragged his hand down his face pulling at the skin around his eyes as he groaned loudly. He lifted one hand just to look at his watch, his shift ended in ten minutes.

John grabbed his jacket, slipping it on in a torpid motion, staggering only a little as he did so. He piled his hands into the pockets and was surprised by the fact that he didn't have his phone. He just shook it off and dragged himself out of the room. He said goodbye to everyone, the people just coming in giving him a sympathetic look as he passed.

Out on the street John hailed a taxi, it taking longer than usual because the universe was against him and he was okay with that, or he was just too tired to care. A cab pulled up and as he opened the door giving the driver his address he bumped his head against the top. He moaned, rubbing it to relieve the pain, he repeated the address to the driver; apparently he didn't know "oof" was an address.

He rode home trying his best to stay up so he would be able to get out of the car by himself and be able to pay the cabbie. It didn't take long to get to the flat from the hospital, just a twenty minute ride; he knew he would be able to make it there.

They pulled up to the building slowly and John gave the driver the biggest bill in his wallet and told him to keep the change. He slipped through the first door smoothly and climbed the stairs to his door. He jabbed his key into the lock and fell in to the door to open it. He saw Sarah watching the TV and mumbled a greeting in her direction. He walked to the bedroom, dropping his coat on its hook and stumbled out of his shoes. He opened the door and the bed was covered in clothes.

"I was doing laundry earlier," Sarah said from behind him, almost making him jump.

John turned to her with a strained look. He walked past her and started taking off his shirt. "I'll pick my clothes up after I wake up," he grumbled to her. He dropped his trousers and climbed onto the couch. He didn't have the strength to put on pajamas; it was just easier to strip to his boxers and sleep. "See you in a year."

**123**

John opened his eyes, shutting them quickly because they were burning for sleep. He heard the faint clicking of a tea cup and almost cried out. He turned his head and saw Sherlock sitting in a chair across from him. He was wearing a robe over what looked like his pajamas. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, his voice clogged with sleep.

Sherlock cocked his head and stared at him silently. He took another sip of his tea and grimaced. "Why am I still drinking that is a better question," he mumbled. He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought you invited me."

John blew air out of his nose irked; he raised himself up on shaky elbows and shook his head. "Why would I invite you here?" he inquired.

Sherlock shrugged, he pulled out his phone and twirled it around in his fingers a bit. "When I got here I knew that you didn't invite me," he told him, "your little girlfriend wasn't surprised to see me."

John looked around, where was Sarah? "Where is she?" he asked.

Sherlock waved in the direction of the door. "Someone nicked the landlords bike, she's helping him out with it," he explained, boredom seeping into every word. "I've been here for an hour watching you sleep."

John wished he could wipe the smirk off of his face. "Why are you in your pajamas?" he decided to asked.

Sherlock looked down at himself as if he just noticed what he was wearing. He opened the robe revealing his shirt that was being hidden. "I didn't bother getting dressed," he told him.

John ignored the comment; he was staring at the shirt. A smile was taking over his tired overworked face. The man was wearing the shirt. John started chuckling quietly. "I can't believe you still have it," he said to him.

Sherlock looked at him bewildered, and then he looked back down at the shirt before bursting out in giggles also. "Of course I still have it," he said through his laughter. "How else will I fend off idiots?"

John fell back covering his face with his arm continuing his snickering. He gasped for breath, trying to calm down; he was too tired to be laughing like that. "I guess you're right," he admitted. "It's a little out dated though, do teachers still hate you?"

Sherlock leaned back in the chair with the largest smile he has had in years. "I'm sure they do," he stated, enjoyment filling his voice. "I'm still a genius, and my brother still bribes people who I seem to be forming a connection with. So I say it's accurate."

John laughed quietly as he shook his head. "Having fun?" Sarah's voice said over his soft giggles.

John lifted himself back up and looked at her over the edge of the couch, a small frown taking his smile's place. "Hey," he breathed out. "Is everything sorted out downstairs?"

"Of course it is," Sherlock threw out, "the bike was in the alley by the flat. The man couldn't remember where he put it."

Sarah shot a glared at him. "Why did you invite him over?" John asked, shivering slightly under Sarah's glare when it turned on him. "And why did you use my phone?"

"I wanted to see who he was," she said. "I wanted to see if it was the same Sherlock Holmes from the hospital, the one you pushed me out of the room so hastily to speak with, when it turned out to be the same man in the photo. I only have one question for you John, what did you need to speak to him about that night?" She crossed her arms over her chest haughtily. "Was it so you could plan out your next date?"

John plopped back on the couch with a growl. He drove his palm into his eyes, resisting the urge to yell at her. "That is the opposite of what happened," he told her through clenched teeth. "Someone from my past, a very bad person, contacted me and I needed to go to Sherlock to tell him or something bad could have happened. I was being forced to do it."

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair, hands forming a steeple as his eyes sparked with interest. He was lost in his thoughts, not listening to the bickering couple.

"Like I'm going to believe that," Sarah replied, rolling her eyes and shifting her weight to her other foot. "John Watson, tell me, do you still have feelings for that man?"

John stared at her in disbelief. He couldn't believe what was happening, he just wanted sleep. "Sarah, I don't think we should talk about this with a guest in the house," he told her. "Sherlock, I think you should go home."

Sherlock looked up from where he was staring at. "Good idea, it's quiet there," he said. He stood from his chair, dressing gown fanning out around him before settling down again. "I'll be seeing you both again very soon." He bowed his head slightly before he was out the door.

"No," Sarah called a little too late. "I wanted to talk with him too." She walked over to the chair that was just occupied and sat down.

John sat up, the blanket that someone put on him pooled around his waist. "If we talk about what happened between us would that make you feel better?" he asked, a sad smile on his face. Sarah stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. "Okay, ask anything you want?"

She was quiet, searching for the best first question she could ask. "How did you two meet?" she asked the most obvious question she could think of.

"He was being an idiot walking out in the rain," John explained, "I rode my bike to him and offered him a ride back the school. He refused, said something about a case and I told him I would help, nothing else really."

Sarah nodded; she folded her hands in her lap and didn't look up. "When did you start dating?" she inquired.

"Somewhere around Christmas," he said. "Same time that picture was taken."

"Why did you two break up?" she asked, sounding more confident.

John paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as the memories came back to him. Instead of telling her that Sherlock left him to protect him he shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure, he just wanted to break up with me at the end of the year," he said, the lie coming out smoothly.

Sarah turned her head to the side and stared at her boyfriend. "Did you love him?" she asked cautiously.

John turned his eyes up towards her; they were glossed over with some unknown feeling. His chest was tight and he wished so desperately that he had a time machine, to go back in time and erase day that destroyed his heart. He wanted Sherlock back. "Yes," he whispered, "I do."

Sarah stood up, the last part of the sentence going unheard. "I understand," she said. She wiped at her eyes and John had to wonder why she was the one able to cry. She turned to him with a smile. "Well, I'm glad that's all water under the bridge now." She walked over to him and placed a kiss on his lips. "Good night."

John mumbled something back to her. Once she walked out of the room he curled up in a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. He let out a shuddering breath before taking in another gulp of air. He fell asleep after a few more deep breaths.

John's phone beeped and he was pulled out of his slumber. He turned around and saw it sitting on the coffee table. He glanced at the clock and noticed that he was asleep for hours. He shook his head and read the text.

**You're in danger; protect yourself and Sarah –SH**

John stared at the text, his mind taking a second to click and pushing himself into action. He quickly got off the couch and ran to the room. He opened the door, no one was in there but the window was opened slightly. He went over to it and wrenched it open. No one was in the alley by the flat. John ran to his desk and grabbed his gun; he checked the chamber and ran out of the room. "Sarah?" he called out. There was no answer; he cursed himself for not hearing a struggle. He was about to throw on some when his phone chimed again. He jogged to it and turned it on.

**They have Sarah; don't leave your flat till I tell you it's safe, they'll kill you –SH**

John clutched the phone in his hand and went to the bathroom, gun raised in defense. He locked the door, and checked the small window just in case. He stood in a corner, his gun clutched in his hands. John controlled his breathing, calming it down so he wasn't feeling as if his heart was going to pop. He opened a text message and sent a text to Sherlock.

**Sherlock, is she alright? Do you know? –John Watson **

John heard the front door close and he jumped. His grip on the gun tightened, it loosened when he heard that it was just the landlord coming home. His phone beeped once again.

**I know that she is hurt but not bad, she is going to be fine. He's after you right now, I don't know if he's going to keep her around –SH**

John sighed and dropped his head on the wall. He knew the universe was against him.

**You guys have no idea how hard this was to write. The first draft had John proposing to Sarah, I don't know how that happened at all. I like this one better, John's in his boxers and Sarah is being held hostage and Sherlock's being protective. Although in the first draft Sherlock and John did kiss, but that just made him buy the ring with the change in his pocket. Anyway, enough with that, it's all in the past and you would have never known if I didn't tell you, unless some of you are mind readers like Charles…yeah I know, deep. Okay, now I'm done. BYE!**


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter is actually going to be dedicated to a person, Kiraclara, whose one word review made me laugh my butt off. I don't even know why but it did. So I want to thank you and this chapter is dedicated to you. Now on to official business, this is the new chapter. I hope you like it. See ya. **

Sherlock ran out of the building and onto the street, almost knocking a couple over as he did so. A huge smile was on his face, he understood what was happening now, and he understood why Moriarty got John involved in all of this again. It was part of the game; it had to do with the beginning, where the game began. He laughed loudly; ignoring the people who were looking at him weirdly he hailed a cab. Once the driver pulled up he climbed in and quickly gave him the address for Scotland Yard.

Sherlock could barely sit still, he was just so excited to be getting closer to the man he wanted. He couldn't believe he missed the clue, he couldn't believe that John was the clue that he was missing. He slammed his fist against his thigh exasperated, he should have known, Moriarty used whatever was in his life against him, be it the drugs, Lestrade, even his brother once. He made sure that he couldn't have anything nice in his life, why would it be any different with John?

They pulled up to Scotland Yard; Sherlock went to grab his wallet but remembered he didn't have it on him. He hoped out and leaned into the window on the driver's side. "I don't have any money on me," he told him truthfully, "if you let me go up there I'll be back down with some."

"No need Mr. Holmes," the cabbie said, "someone already paid for your ride." Sherlock's face fell, terror filling him as he tried to who paid for a taxi he just hailed. "Your brother is a generous fellow."

Relief flooded over Sherlock, he may not have liked his brother but he was safer to have following you around than Moriarty. He nodded to the cabbie and walked to the large building in front of him. He flew in to the elevator, pushing the button for Lestrade's floor. The other officers in the small place with him looked at him with their eyebrows raised. Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, wiggled his toes, and just stared at his reflection on the sliding doors.

"Sherlock?" one of the officers that knew him came forward in the small crowd. "Why are you dressed in your pajamas?"

Sherlock turned his excited gaze over on the small female. The elevator dinged and he raised an eyebrow. "My stop," he said and stepped out on to the floor. He glanced around the room looking for the grey haired DI but not finding him. He straightened his shoulders and walked with purpose over to his office. He wasn't in there either.

Sherlock inwardly groaned, he turned on his toes and looked at everyone who was looking at him. He was going to regret what he was about to say. "Has anyone seen Broker?" he asked. He hated to admit it but the man could get him into the file room, he also hated that he deleted the address to the warehouse which caused him to need the case file.

"What do you want freak?" Broker asked, coming up beside him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can't you guys come up with a better insult?" he asked. He shook his head and turned fully towards the weaseled face man. He took in a deep breath, trying to put on his best polite smile and asked, "Can you get me an old case file?"

Broker stared at him with a blank look for a few seconds. Then suddenly a smirk covered his face. "What do I get if I get you the file?" he inquired.

Sherlock brought his hands to his face and hid behind them. The man was causing him physical pain; no person should be able to do that with just their voice. "I won't insult you for a week," he told him grudgingly.

"Make it a month and we have a deal," the spawn of his teenage nightmares told him.

Sherlock clenched his fists and was about to agree, he needed to get the file quickly, but he saw the man he was looking for. "Lestrade," he yelled over Broker's head. He pushed past the man and walked over to the older officer. "Lestrade I need a file."

Lestrade looked over his attire but shrugged it off; he's seen the detective in worse states. "What file?" he asked. He walked to his office and opened the door, allowing Sherlock in first.

"The one that happened fifteen years ago, with the kidnappings and murder," Sherlock told him. He chose to further explain. "Moriarty was the man behind it."

Lestrade set down all the files in his arms on his desk with a huff and looked at the impatient man. "You mean the one where you were almost blown up?" he questioned. "Why do you need that one?"

"I need the address of the warehouse that he was holding everyone hostage in," the consulting detective told him. "So if you don't mind getting it for me, I will be internally grateful."

Lestrade bit his lip and nodded. He walked behind his desk and opened a draw. He pulled out clothes and threw them at Sherlock. "Do me a favor and get dressed," he ordered and walked out of the room, "and for god's sake change in the bathroom this time."

"Why do you still have my old clothes?" Sherlock asked him before he got too far.

"You never know," Lestrade told him and disappeared down the hall.

Sherlock ignored Lestrade's request and started changing in his office, he didn't care that people could see him. He folded his pajamas up neatly and placed them back in the draw that Lestrade took his fresh set of clothes out of. The shoes were a little too small but he would deal with that on a later date. When he turned he could see some of the newer faces staring at him in shock as the veterans just shook their heads and went back to work.

Sherlock was contemplating on going after Lestrade when he popped back up, file in hand. "I got all that you need about that day here," he said dropping the file in his outstretched hand. Sherlock flipped through the small amount of paper, scanning over paragraphs to find the address. He snapped it shut and rolled it up in his hand. "I'll need a ride Lestrade." He rifled off the address for the older man as he made his way towards the elevator. Lestrade rolled his eyes and followed close on his heels.

**123**

The car pulled up outside the ware house and Sherlock slipped out. "I need you to stay out here Lestrade," Sherlock told him. "I don't think Moriarty would like it if I brought you inside."

Lestrade shut off the car and opened his door anyway. He climbed out of the car and reached under his seat. "I'll wait here then," he said getting a cigarette out of the pack he had hidden.

Sherlock looked at him with an amused look. "I thought you quit," he said.

"Yeah, well, you made me want one," he said around the cancer stick. "Go, I'll be out here. Yell if you get killed."

Sherlock turned around with a smile on his face. He knew he kept Lestrade around for a reason, and it wasn't because of his brother. He opened the door leading inside and started his journey. "Moriarty," he called out. He had to watch his step because the floors were old and he could fall through at any moment. It didn't help that the building suffered from structural damage many years ago.

He reached the second floor and heard the faint sound of a piano playing. A wave of familiarity washed over him as he drew closer to the noise. His laid his hand on the door knob and took in a heavy breath. It would be too much if he saw John behind the doors like last time. He pushed open the door and listened as its creak was drowned out by the noise of the piano.

Sherlock peered inside the room, there was no corpse playing the piano, and there was no John chained to a chair. There was a wheelchair in the middle of the room. He slowly walked towards it and saw a phone sitting on the seat. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. He lifted it up close to his face to look over it, not having his magnifying glass on hand; to his eye there was nothing wrong with it.

He stood full height and looked around; there was only the self-playing piano, the wheelchair, and himself. "Moriarty," he sang. The phone suddenly started ringing in his hand. He pushed a button and held it close to his ear. "Jim?"

"Hello Sherlock," Jim's voice came over the line. "I see you went in the wrong direction…again."

Sherlock silently cursed himself; he turned around and started making his way out of the ware house. "Well, I had to make sure I wasn't missing anything," he said in the same playful sarcastic tone that Moriarty was using. "Where are you Moriarty?"

Moriarty sighed. "You know I can't tell you that," he told him; his wicked smile could be heard through the phone, "that would just ruin the fun."

"Doesn't hurt in asking," Sherlock stated. There was a crack and a bullet hit the floor just before his feet.

"Maybe it will," Moriarty sang. "Don't worry, it's just Sebby, he won't kill you unless I tell him to."

Sherlock started jogging slowly through the halls, he didn't want to seem like he was running but he didn't want to stick around with Moran on the premises. "So, why did you call?" he asked.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I was going to get your little pet," Jim stated. "But then I thought you might warn him, in fact I knew you would so that's why I took your phone and did it for you."

Sherlock checked his pocket; of course he didn't have his phone on him, he had to leave it at the Yard. "How nice of you," he said, his words precise and a little too happy. He finally made it out to the gravel parking lot and ran towards Lestrade's car. "Drive," he ordered the DI.

"Where to?" Lestrade asked after he got back onto the road.

"I think I'll leave you to your thinking now Sherlock," Jim said before he hung up.

Sherlock dropped the phone in to his lap and took to his thinking pose. A million thoughts shot through his head, all of them pertaining to Jim and where he could be. His original theory that he was where it all began kept flying past in his mind. He just couldn't shake the idea for some reason. "Go to my old school," he ordered suddenly.

Lestrade shot a look over to him but turned around anyway. "That's going to take an hour, why are we going there?" he asked.

Sherlock sent him a smile and said, "Because that's where it all began."

**456**

Sherlock stared up at the old building with a fond smile in place. "God, it's like we're going down memory lane today," Lestrade muttered. They parked in the lot and started making their way towards the school. "So where did you first see John?"

Sherlock explained his reasoning to Lestrade along the way so he would know why they were there. He was totally sure whether or not he was going in the right direction with his thinking but he couldn't help it, he had a good feeling he was doing something right. "Well I first saw him somewhere on the side of the school," he said leading the way to where his old spot used to be. He surprised himself for remembering where the small clearing was.

They reached the edge of the woods and Sherlock pushed through the bushes that were surrounding his little spot. Nothing was there, but then again he had to make sure, he didn't want to come back to this later berating himself for being stupid. He was about to turn when something did catch his eye. Close to the bottom of the tree was a little note. He pushed further in and grabbed the paper nailed to the tree. The note said, 'Getting warmer' with a smile face sticking its tongue out. Sherlock crumbled the paper in his hand and shoved it in his pocket.

"Excuse me sirs," a high but demanding woman's voice came up from behind them. "Excuse me but you're not allowed on school grounds."

Lestrade twirled around and flashed her his badge. "We are here under police business," he told her in his best commanding voice. "We would like complete access to all rooms when needed."

She covered her mouth in shock. "Oh my, what's wrong?" she asked.

"We believe there is a dangerous man on the grounds," Sherlock told her. Lestrade glanced at him and he shrugged no need in lying to her.

"Will we need to have the kids removed from the building?" she asked, still shaking slightly from fright.

"No," Sherlock told her, "he won't harm them." Well there was also no need to have a stampede of children happening. "I'll just need to have a look around in one or two rooms."

She nodded. "Okay," she said quietly, "follow me."

They followed her, Sherlock sending Greg a smile and Lestrade sending him a confused one. He had no idea why he was looking so arrogant, but then he had to remind himself that he was with Sherlock, and he probably knew something that he didn't.

They arrived at the headmaster's office and she told them to wait in the hall. She exited the room with a key. "This is the master key, it will open any door you want," she told them. "Will you need me any further?"

"No," Lestrade cut in before Sherlock could say something to put her off. "We need you to just act like nothing is happening; we don't want to spook all the kids." She nodded and left them to their business. "Where are we off to first?"

Sherlock snatched the key from Lestrade's hand and started to run in the opposite direction. "To 221 b Lestrade," he called over his shoulder happily.

Lestrade started his jog to catch up with the mad man. "Leave it to him to get excited when we're chasing after a psychopath," he said to himself.

They reached the room in no time. Sherlock slipped the key into the hole skillfully and opened the door. He paused when he saw a boy on his bed with a toy dart gun.

The boy looked over at him with a huge smile on his face and motioned for him to be quiet. He aimed the gun and shot it across the room, hitting his roommate smack dab in the middle of the forehead. The other occupant of the room groaned. "God Arthur, can't you grow up?" he asked rolling over not taking off the dart as he went back to sleep.

The boy named Arthur laughed loudly and hopped up from his bed. He was a perky kid for nine in the morning on a Saturday. "You're Sherlock Holmes," he stated.

Sherlock stared down at him. "Yes I am," he said. He glanced around the room, nothing seemed to menacing. He had to smile at the map still on the wall. "Nothing here Lestrade," he stated and went to shut the door.

Arthur stopped it and stepped out in the hall with the two of them. "This is amazing," he said, the smile still in place, "first I meet John Watson now I meet his detective Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock turned to look at him. "When did you see John last?" he asked, his eyes darting over the lad, reading his life story in a glance. He dubbed him harmless and relaxed a little.

Arthur pointed at him with a knowing smile. "You were doing your deduction thing weren't you?" he asked. "I never thought I would have that done to me."

Sherlock sighed, he started walking away he knew he wasn't going to get anything from the teenager. "Next stop is Mycroft's room," he told Greg.

Arthur was persistent though, he ran to catch up with them and tried to elbow his way in between the two older men. "I read all about you in his notebooks," he told him proudly. "From the first adventure to the last, they're all extraordinary, especially the one where you had to go undercover as a bag boy at the local shop to stop the boss from stealing any more money. His sister hired you for that one, she went here, right?"

Sherlock stopped, Arthur bumping into his chest. "Say that again," he ordered.

"His sister hired you," Arthur repeated questionably.

Sherlock shook his head. "Do you remember our first case?" he asked.

"Don't you?" Arthur inquired. Once Sherlock glared at him he nodded. "Yeah the one with the tree house, the two teenagers that were in love and the girl went a little crazy."

Realization hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks. "Of course," he whispered. "Of course, oh I'm so stupid." He turned back around and ran down the hall yelling at Lestrade to hurry up, he didn't have time to hot-wire the car.

**789**

On the short ride to the town Sherlock got another call from Jim. "I'm getting closer," he told him once he answered.

"I have a friend of ours that I think wants to see you," Jim said back. "He's not very happy with you. Are you Johnny boy?"

Sherlock growled in to the receiver. "Well I wouldn't be either if I was near you," he told him.

"You know you love me," Moriarty replied. "Although I think Sebastian is getting jealous, he's not looking at our little baby with a very happy look. I don't know how long he'll last."

They pulled up to the edge of the woods and came to a stop. "Leave your DI friend behind," Jim ordered.

"Tell Sebastian to leave," Sherlock retorted.

"Fair enough," Moriarty said. Sherlock heard him tell Sebastian to leave before coming back to him. "That's done. Now come and play." The line went dead.

Sherlock pocketed the phone and told Lestrade that he had to stay where he was. He scratched his nose before turning around and started his trudge through the woods.

It took him a while to find the tree house. He looked up at it; he remembered that it looked sturdier when he first saw it. He strolled up to it and climbed the ladder. He pushed open the floor latch and saw Jim sitting casually in a chair next to John who was huddled up on the floor, bound by his hands and feet with tape over his mouth. He looked over at Sherlock with what looked like boredom in his eyes. "Finally," Jim droned, "I had to tape his mouth shut. Did you know it is incredibly filthy?"

Sherlock sent a smirk John's way; he definitely knew that John had a dirty mouth. He inwardly shook his head, now wasn't the time to be thinking about that. "Well," he started calmly, "I'm here Moriarty. What do you want?"

Jim leaned back in the chair as he thought. "Did you know I gave her the gun," he said, turning his head slowly towards Sherlock. "I also gave her the idea that she and her boyfriend should kill themselves. She loved the idea, thought it was so 'Romeo and Juliet'. God she was annoying."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't have much time," he told him, "I have a job to do at eight."

Moriarty laughed then it died out and he looked like he was in pain. "I'm so bored Sherlock," he told him. "Everything has lost its pleasure. Even this game between you and me, I don't see the point any more. I think Seb's worried for me; he's been looking at me with that one look in his eye. It's beginning to be bothersome. I brought you here because I wanted to see if you would provide any more entertainment for me."

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back looked down his nose at the man. "Did I meet your standards?" he asked.

Moriarty looked back up at him, with sad eyes, shaking his head. "You were so predictable it's not even funny," he told him. "It's no fun when you're twenty moves ahead of your opponent. It's no FUN." He slammed his feet down on the old wood floor. "I don't know what to do though. You were the only person in the world that had the power to entertain me for this long. No one else is out there; no other useless person can fill your big useless shoes."

Sherlock sighed. "Why did you need me to whine to?" he asked. "If you're so depressed go see a therapist."

Jim shot up from his chair, shocking John and making him jump. "Why can't you just be…" he paused, thinking of the best word to say, "better? Why can't you be better?" He touched Sherlock chest lightly with his fingers before turning away and shaking his head. He leaned out the small window looking over all the trees. "You haven't told him yet. Is it because you think he'll hate you?"

"No," Sherlock said. "I didn't think he needed to know. Not yet at least." John looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"Tell him now," Jim ordered. Sherlock didn't say anything; he just stared at Moriarty's back. He turned and met Sherlock's gaze with dead eyes. "Tell him or I kill you both."

**Uh oh, what's going to happen? What does Sherlock need to tell John? Find out next week on Crazy Psychopaths who have people who kill people and also have people with guns that kill people. Make sure you tune in; you don't want to miss the bullet. Yeah okay that's done. I ended the chapter there because it seemed like the best spot to end it; I have no idea what I'm going to do with Jim after next chapter, because it will be his last appearance in this story. I could either kill him or send him off to some island to live in peace with Sebastian. What do you guys think? I want your feedback. That is all my friends. BYE! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Well here's the new chapter. I hope it's up to everyone's standards. If not I guess you can tell me in your review, I don't know how I'll take it but yeah you're free to write whatever in there. So yeah. See ya. **

John stared at Sherlock who was staring at Moriarty; he wanted answers but could even tell the man to hurry up. He struggled against the tight bonds trying to get his attention, it worked Sherlock looked down at him with emotion filled eyes, but his face was stone. John tried to get his words across to the genius using his facial expression. 'Tell me so we can get this over with,' he tried telling him.

Moriarty sighed; he shut his eyes and looked like he was in pain. "Come on Sherly," he moaned, "we don't need to drag this out longer than it should be."

"He doesn't need to know," Sherlock told him. Moriarty tapped his pocket, Sherlock already knew what was in there, all he had to do was press a button and they all would be dead. "John, you were shot in the left shoulder while serving in Afghanistan," he stated. John gave him a look that told him he already knew that. "It was on a Sunday, 11:47 A.M. Your unit was attacked and of friend of yours was shot, you ran over to him and in the process of saving his life an enemy sniper shot you."

John stared at him, eyes wide in shock. He wasn't sure how Sherlock knew all that, he wasn't there he didn't see it happen he shouldn't have been saying what he was. Sherlock opened his mouth again and John almost toppled over as he tried to get closer so he could hear the other man. "The man who shot you wasn't on the enemy's side. He was Sebastian Moran, a man from another unit. He works for Moriarty as you can see."

Moriarty had a mischievous smile on his face again. "Yep Johnny boy, I shot you," he laughed. "Oh, and he watched." He pointed a finger towards Sherlock. "I sent him footage to get him out of his hole that he calls a home."

John didn't take his eyes of Sherlock, he almost looked ashamed. He couldn't believe what he just heard; he wasn't sure what to think of it. He was shot because Moriarty was bored. That was all he could comprehend, he was shot by someone on his side because Moriarty was bored.

"Do you want to know something else?" Moriarty asked over his shoulder. John jumped; he didn't hear Moriarty get closer to him. "Now this is something Sherlock doesn't even know, I set you up with Sarah. I also am considered one of her 'friends', she calls me when she's having problems in her love life. It's painfully dull sometimes but I had to keep tabs on you somehow and surveillance isn't really my thing. It's more your brother's isn't it Sherlock?"

"I think we had enough," Sherlock told him coldly.

"Oh no I don't think it's been enough yet," Jim sang. He placed a hand on John's shoulder. "What do you think son? Would you like to hear another tale?"

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked. John's eyes widened, something happened to him that Sherlock didn't know about. It scared him to death to know that for a reason unknown. "That was the only time you used him." John turned his head; he wished he wouldn't talk about him like he was a doll.

"Oh honey," Jim cooed. "There was one other time. I have done so much in your life that I'm surprised you haven't taken noticed it. You don't know about it because it failed, as much as I hate to admit it. It got almost his whole unit, and he came out unscathed. I didn't have many good lackeys back then, Sebastian was too busy here to go out to war. It was the same day he shot you I believe."

Sherlock's hands twitched behind his back, he had the urge to rub his side where the bullet hit. "Is that what you wanted us here for?" he asked casually.

Jim Moriarty shook his head. "No," he sighed. "No, I actually came here to tell you this is the last time you see me. I'm going to be off somewhere better."

"Heaven?" Sherlock joked.

"Actually I'm not in the mood to die yet," he told him. He reached in his pocket and tossed Sherlock his phone. "Call off your brother's firing squad so I can get out of here."

"Why should I?" Sherlock asked, tossing his phone up playfully.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you don't want to die either," he told him. "I'm sure you don't want Johnny to die. So you'll let me out of here and you'll be able to leave alive."

Sherlock pressed a button on his phone and held it to his ear. "Sherlock," Mycroft answered smoothly.

"Remove your men from the premises," he told him quickly. "Let Moriarty and Moran leave without harming them."

"Very well," Mycroft responded and hung up.

Sherlock took the phone from his ear and gave Moriarty a smile. "There you go," he said. "If my brother kills you it's not my fault. We really don't listen to each other much, it's part of the whole sibling rivalry thing."

Jim was silent as he walked over to the floor door. He opened in and slid down to the first rung of the ladder. He paused and looked at Sherlock. "If I die you'll know," he sang. He laughed as he lowered himself further to the ground.

Sherlock didn't move till the trap door shut with a loud bang. He quickly dropped to his knees and started untying John's hands and feet. Once they were free John pulled off the duct tape and took a few seconds to stretch out his mouth. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he was still processing the new information that was given him.

Moriarty killed men, killed honest good willed men, just to get at Sherlock. John knew he shouldn't have been surprised; he kidnapped children and beheaded a man just to show Sherlock what he had to offer. Also the fact that he was shot by someone who was supposed to be on his side made him sick, they were supposed to be there for each other not off trying to kill their comrades.

John had to sit back and think about other times that might have been caused by Moriarty. Was he there every time something bad happened? He was jostled out of his thoughts by Sherlock shaking his shoulder. "John, are you alright?" he asked.

John looked up at him. Earlier he would have loved to speak to him, but now he could get any words out. Maybe it was the shock that now half of his life has been controlled by a psychopath. He swallowed and nodded, he wasn't hurt much, just a few bruises. They had to man handle him a little once he figured out they weren't Mycroft's men.

"Alright," Sherlock breathed out in relief. His phone rang and he answered it. "Hello?"

"It's safe to come out now," Mycroft told him. "Moriarty is gone."

"Okay," Sherlock said stiffly and hung up. "Come on, I have a feeling you're getting cold and want to get home."

John looked down; he forgot he still wasn't dressed fully. Moriarty's men didn't give him a chance to put anything on. He stood up, clutching his chest to keep warm. He followed silently behind Sherlock as they made their way out of the woods.

**123**

When the EMTs asked John if he wanted anything and he told them he would love a cup of tea he didn't think he would actually get one. He was sitting on the back of an ambulance with an orange shock blanket around his shoulders with the tea in his hands. He was staring tiredly at the ground, not taking in much that was happening around him. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath, the cool air making his nostrils hurt.

"They have Sarah," Sherlock's voice interrupted his deep breathing exercises. "She was tied up in a car down by the Thames."

John looked over as he sat down next to the blond. "Is she alright?" he said groggily.

"No wounds were suffered," Sherlock stated. He looked down at his hands almost nervously. "You must think I'm an idiot."

John took a sip of his tea and nodded. "I always think you're an idiot," he told him seriously, but a small smile was on his lips.

"I should have told you," Sherlock said. "The moment I could I should have told you that Moriarty was the one who almost killed you." He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. "I should have known he would try to use this against me somehow. I don't even know for sure why he did it. There was no reason, no end result really fascinating. He probably just wanted to make sure we never go close again, making me tell you a secret that I was planning on deleting after I got a hold of him. I never wanted to watch you get shot, you have to believe me. This was no longer my game, but his and he was just making up rules along the way. You can't bring back players that already are out of the game. It's not how things are played."

John stopped Sherlock's rant by grabbing his hand and laying a gentle kiss on his lips. "Shut up," he told him softly and went back to his tea. He could feel Sherlock's eyes boring in to the side of his head so he sent a glance his way and smiled. The detective was staring at him with his mouth slightly open. "Fifteen years ago you told me we should break up because you didn't want Moriarty to hurt me to get to you. Well since that never worked, it also is irrelevant now because Moriarty is gone."

Sherlock couldn't help but ask the next question. He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear John say it. "What about Sarah?"

John sighed. Suddenly his eyes became too old for him, and it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Sarah," he let out, "Sarah's not you, plain as day." He scratched as his chin where the duct tape took off his hair. "I was trying to force the relationship too much, plus the fact that she was friends with Jim puts me off."

"Alright, we got you some clothes," Lestrade stated happily as he walked up to the two. He handed John a set of lounge clothes. "You might want to put them on before you catch a cold, and we got you some boots."

John sighed in relief. He set down his tea and stood up. He slipped on the sweat pants; he could already feel the warmth returning to his body, the sweat shirt was the same gift. "Thank you," he let out happily.

Lestrade laughed and gave his shoulder a pat. "I hope you don't mind but we have to take you two back to the station to get a report," he told them. "It won't take more than a few minutes, if you behave and answer the questions, and we'll have you home before the sun goes down."

"What time is it anyway?" John asked looking up to the sky for the answer.

Sherlock looked at his watch. "It's only noon," he told him.

"We're just finishing up here," Lestrade stated, "I'll come over for you guys when we're done."

John settled back on the edge of the ambulance. "I need to sleep," he mumbled.

"Sleeping's boring," Sherlock laughed as he scooted closer to John.

"So isn't breathing and eating," John added.

Sherlock placed a hand over his heart and faked a touched look. "You remembered," he cooed playfully.

John rested his head on his shoulder. "Of course I remember," he said. "They're the first rule of the room. I was never allowed to sleep, I barely ate when around you, and your smoking made me want to stop breathing."

Sherlock chuckled quietly. "If it helps I quit," he told him. "I actually stopped a while ago, and then started up again, and now I'm off them. For sure, well only if I really need one."

"That's great," John yawned. He lifted his head slightly and kissed his shoulder. "I'm tired."

"Well working such a long shift will do that to someone," Sherlock said. John mumbled something and made him laugh. He wrapped his arm over the shorter man's shoulders and hummed exultantly. "Also getting kidnapped might take a toll on a person."

"You know Sherlock, you sure know how to make a fella feel good," the blond stated mockingly.

Lestrade whistled, catching their attention. He motioned for them to come over to the squad car. John leaned away from Sherlock and let him get up before him. Once the consultant was standing he grabbed on to his hand and pulled himself up to his feet. Sherlock smiled at the exhausted man and leaned down to kiss him quickly. It felt magnificent to finally be able kiss the man again; he wished he never put an end to it.

John laughed as he pulled away. "You have such a ridiculously large smile on your face," he told him, his own face stretching to its limits.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Sherlock said back. He squeezed John's hand and led him to the car.

**Ha, ha they kissed. Yeah I know it's not much but I don't like to write kissing scenes, I don't know how, mostly because I really haven't ever kissed anyone. But anyway I hope you liked it. They're finally together, Moriarty has his man off on some island and Lestrade has his secret division that no one really knows of. Oh, and Sarah, but she won't really matter after the next chapter. She may pop up every now and then but most likely not. Anyway that's all I have to say you guys. BYE!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Here's the new chapter. I hope you all like it very much. Um, I have nothing else to say except enjoy your selves. See ya. **

Sherlock sat in an uncomfortable chair back at Scotland Yard staring at the wall in front him. He didn't have to be here, he could just get up and walk out but he was waiting for John to talk with Sarah. He said it wouldn't take long but Sherlock knew that John was going to try to console her; it was in his nature he would do it for any one.

Sherlock wished he could be in there but John told him that would be like putting salt on an open wound and he should just wait outside the room for him. So being the loving person he was he sat himself on the closet chair to the door and listened in on their conversation. John was talking quietly and Sarah was crying a little. It wasn't as interesting as he hoped it would be. He was expecting some kind of screaming judging on how jealous she got.

The familiar sound of an umbrella hitting the ground came from the end of the hallway. Sherlock covered his face and groaned the last thing he wanted to do was have a conversation with his brother. The annoying sound stopped right in front of him. "Hello Sherlock," Mycroft said.

Sherlock lifted his head from his hands and looked at the smile on his brother's face. "Mycroft," he said back in a venomous tone.

"We have no whereabouts on Moriarty yet," Mycroft told him as he sat down. "I have some of my people on the lookout for him."

"Just leave him be," Sherlock told him with the flick of his hand. "He's not going to bother us anytime soon, and if he does we'll know when he gets back. He's no harm to the world any longer."

Mycroft hummed in agreement. They were silent for a second, the only sound coming from the office around them, until Mycroft decided to break it. "So, I see you and John are together again," he said almost awkwardly, but it was Mycroft and he didn't sound awkward ever, he sounded uncomfortable at times, but never awkward.

"No need for small talk," Sherlock moaned.

"Mummy will be delighted to hear," Mycroft stated, ignoring his brother's protest.

Sherlock sat up straighter and gave the older Holmes a look. "Don't tell her," he ordered. "I don't want you going around ruining things for me."

"She'll want to know Sherlock," Mycroft told him as he stood up. He leaned heavily on his umbrella as he looked down on him. "But I'll respect you wishes. Make sure you tell her soon though." He smiled at him before walking away.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, finally relaxing, and took in a deep breath. He hated his brother for telling him what to do, especially something that he knew he had to do already. But he wasn't going to do it for a while; he just got back together with the man no need to bring him home to mother. He rolled his eyes and decided to push what his brother said away from his mind and focus on what John was telling Sarah.

"So you're telling me that one of my friends tried to kill you multiple times?" Sarah asked.

John sounded liked he hesitated before answering, "Yeah."

"You're also breaking up with me after my friend kidnapped me," Sarah clarified.

"I would really like it if you stop calling him your friend," John told her. He paused, Sherlock fought the urge to turn around the corner and look at what his face looked like. "I know that sounds bad," John said after he thought over what he just said, "but I did say sorry."

"Oh thank god you said sorry," Sarah stated sarcastically. "Just this morning you were telling me there was nothing going on between you two."

"That's because this morning I was trying to force myself to believe that I didn't want anything more from him," John told her. "We both knew our relationship was going to end in shambles anyway, it's better that we ended before it got too rough for either of us to handle."

"You're right there, John Watson," Sherlock mumbled to himself. He succumbed to the impulse to look at what they were doing and turned in his chair. He saw John with his arms around Sarah's shoulders.

John sighed and rubbed her arm slightly. "I'm gonna get going now," he told her. "I'll be 'round the flat to gather my things tomorrow. Is that okay?"

Sarah looked up at him with her face red and blotchy from crying. "Yeah, that's fine," she said.

John gave her shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room. He spotted Sherlock through the glass and smiled. "Can we go?" he asked.

Sherlock looked over him, he looked like he was about to pass out despite the fact he slept in the car on the way back to Scotland Yard. "Any time you're ready," he told him. He stood and draped and arm over the shorter man's shoulders. "I just want to get something from Lestrade's office."

John leaned in to his side and shut his eyes. "Make it quick," he mumbled playfully.

"I would go faster if you didn't decide to sleep and walk at the same time," Sherlock said leading him to Greg's office. He leaned John the door frame telling him not to fall over, and quickly grabbed his pajamas out of the draw he put them in earlier.

**123**

Sherlock unlocked the door to 221, letting John walk in past him. "Mrs. Hudson will want to see you," he said as he shut the door.

"Mrs. Hudson," John called out happily. He would forgo sleep to speak with the best woman in his life; she was like his mother away from home. He heard the door open down the hall and the soft quick footsteps of the woman. John held out his arms and Mrs. Hudson buried herself in his chest. "I've missed you so much."

"John Watson it's been too long," Mrs. Hudson scolded him. "Are you just visiting?"

John shook his head. "Nope I'm here to stay," he told her happily.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and glanced at Sherlock. "There's a bedroom upstairs then, if you'll need two bedrooms," she said. She looked between her two boys with a worried looked. She knew what happened and that it didn't end too well between the men.

John didn't take his eyes off her. "Of course we won't need two bedrooms," he told her.

Mrs. Hudson smiled over John's shoulder at Sherlock. "Well then, I'll let you two boys go have your fun," she said. "I'm just working on fixing Sherlock's scarf; he ripped it last week on a chase."

"Thank you," Sherlock said coming closer to the two. He put his hand on the small of John's back and started leading him towards the stares.

They made it to the living room of 221 b and John was about ready to collapse. "The bedroom?" he asked as he kicked off the oversized boots he was wearing.

"Right there," Sherlock said with a smile.

"See you when I wake up," John told him. He was only a little surprised when Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him in to a kiss. When they pulled apart John couldn't keep his mouth from stretching to its fullest. He shut his eyes and Sherlock could only imagine what was going through his mind. "See you later Sherlock."

"Sleep well John," Sherlock said back. He watched the shorter man go towards his bedroom before going to the kitchen to start up a new project. His heart was bursting with joy, he finally had the only man he ever had feelings for back in his life. He spent years telling himself that his body was just transport and that emotions got in the way, but he knew he missed it. He missed having John around him whenever he said something clever, whenever he was bored, whenever, as long as he was in the room with him.

**456**

Sherlock lifted the small paper to his nose, taking in the scent. He pulled it away from his face quickly, the smell was overpowering. He brought it slowly to his nose again, taking in another whiff.

"So," John started behind him. "How come you don't have you dad's last name?" He was talking to Broker, who was most likely glaring back at him.

"Mum had a falling out with him," Broker answered honestly.

"It didn't help that your dad also had sex many times with your current girlfriend," Sherlock chimed in. "John smell this."

John leaned closer to the paper he was holding up and sniffed. "Why does that smell like maple syrup?" he asked.

"Why indeed?" Sherlock questioned out loud.

"It means nothing," Broker told him scornfully.

Sherlock turned to glare at him. "Why don't you do something useful and leave," he suggested.

Broker growled. He had enough of Sherlock's jibes. "Why don't you do all of us a favor and jump off a bridge," he snapped.

Sherlock could hear John's fist clench and his teeth grind against each other. Last time someone said that to Sherlock John got in a lot of trouble, he was all for punching Broker but not if it meant John getting in trouble with the police. They could both be punished for that. He laid a hand on John's shoulder. "Come along John," he said, "we have things to do."

John relaxed a little under his touch and followed him off the crime scene. "I hate him so much," he muttered. "You should have let me clocked the guy."

"And get kicked off of scenes for a month again, I doubt either of us want that," Sherlock huffed.

John shrugged his shoulders, he wouldn't mind spending a month with a moody Sherlock if it meant the Anderson spawn was on the ground bleeding, and had a broken nose. "Where are we going?" he asked instead of voicing his thoughts.

"Saint Bart's," Sherlock answered simply. "I need to figure out why this paper smells like this." John nodded and followed behind him, sending a seething look over his shoulder towards the forensics operator. "Maybe we can get somewhere with this."

The body was found in the bushes at a museum, the man had his head bashed in with the museum wall. His clothes stripped off him, the only thing he was wearing were his shoes. Inside one of the shoes was the slip of paper taped to his foot. Sherlock would have thought that it was an accident if it weren't for the fact that he wasn't wearing clothes, and the bruises covering his body. Then he would have said he was drunk but there was no smell of alcohol on his breath. He had to admit that this one was going to take long to find out if he doesn't get a lead soon.

**789**

Sherlock cut off a small portion of the piece of paper and put it in a petri dish. He squirted a chemical on to it and watched it fizz. He pushed it away heatedly; he wasn't getting the results he wanted. He hoped that it would change a color not fizz; nothing would have made him happier if the chemical just changed color.

He checked the computer, still nothing coming up as a match. Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and sat back. He was getting nowhere. "John can you get me some coffee?" he asked. The blond jerked up off the counter he was leaning on, he stopped paying attention half an hour before. "Coffee."

"Coffee," John repeated as he grabbed his coat. "Black to sugars."

Sherlock smirked a little, listening to John's grumbles as he exited the room. The man has been living with them only for a few days, Mrs. Hudson been stealing him whenever he had free time. Sherlock somehow got the shorter end of the stick and barely ever saw him, whenever he was at home John was always going out to the shopping, sleeping, or off to work. He was hoping to get some alone time with him eventually, luckily a case came up and John was more than willing to tag along.

Sherlock sighed and rolled over to the microscope that held a slice of paper under it. He looked down on the particles that were moving. He wasn't able to identify what was on the paper just looking at it, so it wasn't something he was used to seeing. Sat up straight and ran his fingers through his hair.

There was a knock at the door and Sherlock snapped his head towards it. It wasn't John, he wouldn't knock it must have been the only other person that would look for him, Molly. He watched as the brunet walked through the door with a hesitant smile on her face. "Hello Sherlock," she said stepping closer towards him. "I was told that you were here."

"Yes," Sherlock stated. He knew the girl had a crush on him; he sometimes used it to his advantage. Having someone who liked you at the morgue gave him great access to body parts. It has helped solve many cases, putting away the worst criminals. She didn't believe that she was special, but without her he would have a harder time getting what he needed and more people could be harmed of killed. "Is there something else that you needed?"

Molly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked shyly down at her shoes. She glanced back up at him. "Well, I know you don't eat much while you're working but," she paused and took in a deep breath, "I was wondering if you wanted to go out for lunch with me. As friends course, and you don't have to eat, I just wanted to, you know, maybe talk a bit."

Sherlock stared at her for a minute, not saying anything. His attention was brought to the door as John backed his way in with two cups of coffee in his hands. "Ah, John you're back," he said standing to meet the blond half way.

"I figured it would be easier to go to the cafeteria to get them instead of the café down the street," John said handing him his cup. His gaze landed on Molly and he smiled. "Hello, I'm John Watson."

Molly smiled back. "Molly Hooper," she said back shaking his offered hand. "Are you Sherlock's friend?"

John cleared his throat and looked at the detective. Sherlock looked back at him with an amused look. "Boyfriend in fact," he told her and watched as her face fell.

"Oh, well I better get going then," Molly said and started towards the door.

"Bye Molly," Sherlock called out as he went back to his chair.

John watched her leave until the door shut. "What did she want?" he asked leaning against the counter behind Sherlock.

"Jealous?" Sherlock questioned with a smile on his face. He liked the distraction from the frustrating end of the case, it's not like he could do anything anyway he had to wait to see if any results came back. If some came he would be happy and set on the right trail, if none came he would be set back to square one.

John rolled his eyes but didn't answer. A beep came from the computer. "No results," he read aloud. "Well, that's not good."

"No really John?" Sherlock sarcastically snapped. John shrugged his shoulders; he knew that Sherlock could be a bipolar teenager some time. The taller man grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and stalked out of the room.

John was surprised by the sudden movement for a second before shaking himself and following Sherlock out of the room. They've been working on the case for hours and Sherlock hadn't got anything new since the morning, he knew how edgy he could be when something wasn't going his way.

**123**

Sherlock stopped the taxi outside a little shop, he told the driver to wait for him as he climbed out. John quickly followed him, not sure what they were doing. They entered the shop and Sherlock strode up to the counter with a purpose. No one was there so he hit the top of the bell. There was no response from anywhere inside the building.

"Maybe they're not here," John suggested.

Sherlock looked at him over his shoulder as if noticing that he was there for the first time. "With the door open?" he asked. John pursed his lips and looked down at his shoes. "No need to be an idiot John, all you have to do is think."

"Listen, I know you want to get done with this case but you don't need to be mean," John retorted. The madman was getting on his nerves with his remarks, they were nonstop in the cab. "Are you listening to me?"

Sherlock wasn't, he was tapping the bell repeatedly trying to get the owner's attention. John was about to yell at him to stop when a man walked out of the door behind the counter. "Leo," Sherlock said cheerfully, "I need your help."

"Anything for you Sherlock," Leo said clasping his hand around Sherlock's and shaking it frantically. He looked at John with a wide smile. "This man got my daughter out of ten years in prison. He's the best man I know."

Sherlock smirked towards John before placing his face back in to a serious look. "Leo I need to know what kind of paper this is, where it may come from, what's on it, anything will help." He handed him the small slip of paper from his pocket.

"The great Sherlock Holmes needs help?" John whispered as he stood close to Sherlock's side.

"Despite your beliefs I don't know everything," Sherlock informed him.

"Like the fact the earth goes around the sun," John joshed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes; he knew he would never live that down. He chose to ignore John's quiet laughter to see if Leo found out anything. Leo was looked at the paper through a magnifying glass. "This paper is imported," he said not looking up from it, "from Canada. Only a few places here will have it. I don't sell it so I won't be able to tell you who buys it. But I can give you the name of other paper shops around here that could sell it, but I can't guarantee anything."

"If you can give me the name of the paper and the list of shops I'll be on my way," Sherlock told him.

Leo started writing down names. "You won't stay for a drink?" he asked. Sherlock told him he couldn't. "Not even a slice of cake?" He handed him the small list.

"I'm on a case," Sherlock told him smoothly. "I'll need the name of the paper."

Leo looked at him sadly. "Yes, of course," he said. "Maple Leaf, it's not that hard to remember, you won't have a problem with that anyway. Good luck on the case, not that you'll need it. That man can solve anything you throw at him."

Sherlock waltzed out of the shop and stopped at the cab that was still waiting. He ripped the paper in half, being careful not to get any of the words and handed one half to John. "Go to those shops and see if they sell Maple Leaf, if they do get a list of the places they sell it to," he ordered as he got back in to the car.

**456**

Sherlock stopped at the first shop on his list. He asked the owner if she had any Maple Leaf, she told him that she didn't. He left that shop quickly and went on to the next one.

He walked into the next shop. He stopped; there was someone else at the counter. Sherlock sighed; he wasn't expecting anyone to be in a paper shop, it's not something you did every day. He walked up behind the person who seemed to be waiting for their order. Sherlock glanced over him, he was a university student, short brown hair, heavy build, part of some club going by the ring he was wear, his parents had money, and partied instead of studied during the night.

The owner came out of the back room with a box in his arms. "Here you go Mr. Hamilton," he said setting down the box on the counter. "Will that be all?"

"Yes thank you," Hamilton said and pushed pass Sherlock.

"May I help you?" the owner asked as Sherlock stepped forward.

Sherlock glanced around the shop. "I was wondering if you had any Maple Leaf," he told him, putting on his best polite smile.

"Yes, we do," he replied. "Would you like to buy some?"

"Actually I'm here under police order I need a list of all the people who have bought it," he said forcefully.

"ID?" the owner questioned.

Sherlock pulled an ID badge out of his pocket and flashed it at the man. "Now the list," he ordered.

The owner of the shop was very quick with his work. "The Maple Leaf has become very popular tin the last few years. Those young ones always come in here to buy some. I don't know what they use it for but they go through it like its air to them. I don't have all the names, some pay with cash but I know most of them by name." He held out the paper to Sherlock. "What do you need the names for?"

"Someone who was murdered was found with this paper on his person," Sherlock explained. He pulled the slip out of his pocket and handed it over to the owner. "I wasn't able to figure out what was on it."

The owner rubbed it in his fingers for a moment. "There's something on this paper," he told him. Sherlock looked at him muddled. "This isn't what normal Maple Leaf feels like." He walked into the back and brought out a piece of paper. "Feel this."

Sherlock ran his fingers over the paper. It was smoother than the paper he found on the body. He sniffed it; it smelled less of maple syrup. "Why is it different?" he questioned himself. "I'll need this." He held up the paper he was just handed and walked out, the owner of the shop yelling at him that he needed to pay.

Sherlock took out his phone and texted Lestrade the names of the places that bought the paper, telling him to search for any missing person reports from them. He hailed down a cab; he needed to get back to Saint Bart's, he needed to find out what was on the paper. He quickly texted John the rest of the list of shops, telling him to finish the work and that he was going to Saint Bart's. He ignored the text that most likely had cuss words and threats littering it.

**789**

Sherlock stared down at the paper under the microscope. He was forcing himself to remember what he was seeing on the paper as he ran a test on it through the computer again, this time not looking where it could have come from but seeing what chemical it could have on it. His phone beeped and he was momentarily distracted. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text from Lestrade.

**No missing person for any of those places. Why do you need to know? Is it for our case? –L**

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sent a reply back.

**Yes it's for our case –SH**

He dropped it back in his pocket and ignored it when the DI texted him back. He rested against the back of the chair holding the remaining piece of paper. There wasn't anything written on it, nothing that special. He stared at it, almost hoping that something would pop up but he knew that would never happen.

After a few minutes of staring at the paper in his hands, he felt something strange happening to him. He blinked a few times as blue and red dots danced in front of his eyes. He rubbed his face, he could feel himself getting hotter, and sweat was starting to run down his face.

Sherlock dropped the paper and placed his hands on the table, which started moving. He stood up; his chair went flying making him almost fall on his face. He took a shaky step towards the door, he's been drugged somehow. It hit him; the chemical on the paper was a drug that was absorbed through skin. It made sense now. He had to tell someone.

Sherlock leaned heavily against the lab table reached in to his pocket for his phone but his pocket seemed to be going on forever. He lifted his heavy body off the table and shoved his hand further in to his pocket. He watched as his hand flew through the other end and his eyes widened. "Where's my phone?" he mumbled out of his slack mouth.

He looked down at his fingers; they were blue at the tips. He jerked his arms trying to get out of his jacket but he ended up throwing himself to the floor. His head bounced off the tiled floor and he passed out.

**123**

Sherlock was woken up to water being dripped on his face. He sat up and pain shot through his head. "Not to quick there," John said helping him up slowly.

Sherlock felt like was going to be sick. "What happened?" he asked, his dry mouth making it hard to say anything.

"You fell and hit your head," John told him simply. "You woke earlier mumbling something incoherent. I tried getting you up but you passed back out." He ran his hand over the cut, making Sherlock wince in pain.

Sherlock couldn't remember what he was doing before he passed out. He lifted his hand to touch his own head but stopped when he saw the fading color of blue on his fingers. He was staring at them, trying to figure out why they were blue.

"Sherlock are you okay?" John asked. He glanced down at his fingers. "Why are your fingers blue?"

"No idea," Sherlock muttered. He brought them to his mouth to taste them; there was a tangy taste to them. He lifted them to his nostrils, they smelled like maple. His mind was working as fast as it could. "I was drugged." That was the only probable reason why he couldn't remember anything after his conversation with Lestrade; it also explained why he fell to the floor, making himself pass out. But what drugged him?

"Who drugged you?" John asked alarmed.

Sherlock's eyes shot towards the paper, of course. "The paper was drenched in a drug," he shouted. He paused and shook his head. "I need to go see the body." He ran out of the room and in to the hall. "Molly!" he yelled looking for the women.

"Sherlock, why do you need to see the body?" John hollered after him.

Sherlock stopped and spun on his heel, he paused again, his stomach lurching forward. The genius covered his mouth before he got sick. He looked around for the best thing but couldn't find one in time. He leaned against the wall and puked.

John was at his side in an instant. "They're still in your system Sherlock," he informed him as he rubbed small circles on the detectives back. "I think you need to sit down and let it pass through your system.

Sherlock shook his head, his curls getting plastered to his head from the sweat that started coming again. They weren't out of his system yet that was for sure. "I need to see the body," he repeated. "I'll need you as a crutch though."

John rolled his eyes. He lifted one lanky arm over his shoulders and hauled the stocky man to his feet. "Come on you big goof," he grumbled. He glanced back at the sick on the floor before starting for the morgue. "I hope someone cleans that up."

"John, you're going the wrong way," Sherlock whispered to him. John grunted and turned them around. "We need Molly's permission to look at the body."

"Where's Molly?" John inquired.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked back.

John checked his watch. "Almost ten," he answered.

"She'll be in the morgue," he said. John nodded and carried on.

**456**

It took them a little long to get to the morgue, Sherlock had to stop to be sick again, thankfully in a bathroom this time, and John had to clean him up the second time he done it. Then Sherlock forgot what he was doing at one point and started singing in a different language. John would just sigh and lug the dead weight because Sherlock also forgot that he had legs and stopped walking. He was contemplating on just throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman carry and run to the morgue, but that would end in Sherlock most likely being sick again. So he endured his drugged up partner the whole way down to the morgue.

"John you have to knock," Sherlock slurred as they approached the door. "If you don't knock she'll be cross."

John rolled his eyes and used his free hand to knock. "Sherlock I have manners," he retorted.

Sherlock paled. "I don't like these drugs," he said before he got sick again.

Molly opened the door with a surprised look on her face. "Sherlock," she said panicked, "are you okay?"

"I've been drugged Molly," he said histrionically. "I need to look at a body."

Molly looked between John's pleading face and Sherlock's attempt at a serious one. "What drugs are in him?" she asked the doctor.

"I don't know," John told her.

"Body!" Sherlock yelled lurching forward past the frightened woman. "I need to see a John Doe; he was brought in earlier today I need to see his feet!"

"I would do as he said," John suggested. "There's no telling what he is willing to do like this. Do you have a mop?" He gestured to the throw up on the floor outside the door. "I'll clean it up, it's the least I can do."

"No need," said a man behind them. They both looked at him. "I've been following you cleaning up after the man. I'm the janitor." John nodded trying to contain his questioning look.

"Molly," Sherlock moaned, "I need the body now."

Molly grabbed her clipboard and nodded before wheeling out a body. "You said you wanted to see the feet?" she questioned as she unzipped the body bag,

Sherlock stared at a blue shape at the bottom of the victim's foot. "How could I have missed that?" he whispered to himself. He noticed that the blue shape was familiar. It was shaped as a star except it had little jagged edges on each side. He seen that particular star before, where though? He stood up straight and stared at the wall as he thought. He was also wondering how they got the drug to be administrated only in that area and to leave its stain behind in a star, the whole paper had the drug on it and when he found it, it was folded into a square. He pushed that aside though, he need to focus on where he seen the star before.

He shut his eyes and ran everything he saw that day through his head, nothing matching with the symbol on the foot. Suddenly he remembered where he saw it. "Hamilton," he shouted. The two other occupants of the room looked down upon him as he looked up at them. Then he realized something. 'How did I get on the floor?' he asked himself. He shook his head.

"Who's Hamilton?" John asked.

"The guy ahead of me at the shop," Sherlock explained, "he was wearing a ring with this symbol on it." He reached in to his pocket but his hand went through. He looked at his fingers for a bit before going to the other pocket, it was just another thing to get Mrs. Hudson to sew. His long fingers wrapped around a wad of papers. He threw the paper he didn't need to the floor and looked at the list of people's names. "Thomas Hamilton, he's on the list for those who buy Maple Leaf."

"Maple Leaf?" Molly piped up.

"It's a type of paper," John supplied. "Do you think he's the one that killed him?"

Sherlock brought his hands together in front of his mouth. He figured he was in some type of club by the type of ring he was wearing. He was also attending college, so it could have been a club at his school. But what college did he go to? Sherlock clapped his hands and stood from his spot on the ground. "We need to get to the Yard," he announced and strode out of the room.

"Bye Molly," John said as he jogged to catch up with the now drug free man.

"Bye," Molly called after him.

**789**

"Why universities?" Lestrade asked as he typed away on his computer.

Sherlock stared at him over his desk. "I believe the victim is a student," he told him. "We need to find out whether anyone has been claimed missing yet."

Lestrade watched him for a second, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you been doing drugs again?" he asked, an edge coming to his voice. "Sherlock you promised me you'll stay clean."

"He was drugged earlier," John defended, but he shot a look towards Sherlock. "He's coming down now, hasn't been dealing too well."

Lestrade nodded, his eyes moved back to the screen. "There are no missing person reports for anyone from any university around our area," he voiced. "Who drugged you?"

Sherlock stood from his chair. "Paper," he stated simply and stalked out of the room.

"Will you stop doing that?" John groaned as he quickly made his way out of the office.

They made it to the streets, the wind blowing heavier in the night. "His pants were wet John," Sherlock stated when John finally caught up with him. "But it wasn't raining around here, so he must have come from a place it was raining." He pulled out his phone and went to the internet. He was checking the weather forecast for any rain in the surround areas. "But if his pants were wet that would mean he walked here, so it he doesn't live far from here. Ha." He held his phone up to John's face. "He must be there." Sherlock hailed a taxi and gave him the address he wanted to go to.

**123**

Sherlock took large steps on the campus grounds. "We're looking for people with rings," he told him, his eyes darting around to the few people who were still out, checking their hands.

"Yeah that helps," John mumbled. He went on being ignored by Sherlock. "So, are we looking for more than one person?"

"A club," Sherlock answered.

John nodded and continued looking before he exhaled loudly. "I don't know what kind of ring I'm looking for," he informed the genius.

Sherlock pulled out his phone and flicked through to his pictures. "This is the symbol we're looking for," he told him aggravated.

"When did you take a picture?" John asked.

"Not the point," Sherlock mumbled. He was about to put his phone away as he when John stopped him. "What?"

"I have a better way of going about this," he told the man. He grabbed the phone from his hand. "It'll take hours if we do it your way." He stopped a nearby student. "Hello we're with the police, have you ever seen this symbol?" he asked nicely.

"No sorry," the girl said with a frown.

"It's okay," John smiled and turned back to Sherlock. "On to the next one."

"You're good at pretending to be police John," Sherlock said to him.

John rolled his eyes and started off to find the next person. He fed them the same line and got the same response. He walked up to a large man and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

He turned and Sherlock took a step forward, recognizing the man as Hamilton. "Hello, we're with the police," John started, not seeing the ring on the man's finger, "have you ever seen this symbol before?"

"Is that a foot?" Hamilton asked, trying to hide how nervous he was.

"Yes it is Thomas Hamilton," Sherlock cut in before John could answer. "Can you tell me whose foot it may belong to?"

Hamilton's eyes widened before breaking off in a run. Sherlock jumped in to action a split second after the student did, John following close behind him. They chased him across the campus, having to push a few groups of kids aside; John apologized for Sherlock as was his job.

"This way John," Sherlock yelled to him. He turned and started climbing up stairs. John glanced around as they entered the building finding out that they were going through a library.

They cut around a couple of book cases and to a door. They went up some stairs that lead to the roof. "Where are we going?" John huffed as they jumped on to another roof.

"Trust me," Sherlock yelled back over his shoulder. They ran on the roof till they reached a latter hanging off the side. Sherlock grabbed on to the edges and slid to the ground. He saw Hamilton run around the corner and was able to bring the large man to the ground.

"We didn't know he was dead," Thomas cried out under Sherlock.

"John, call Lestrade," Sherlock told the shorter man. "Who are we?" he asked Thomas.

Thomas wiggled underneath him. "The Maplers," he answered truthfully. "We didn't know that Brian died, we just thought he chickened out. We haven't seen him since yesterday."

**456**

Sherlock listened in on the interrogation, learning that The Maplers were holding initiation night and that anyone who wanted to enter had to go through the one challenge. They had to strip naked, except their shoes, and had to have the paper taped to their foot. None of them knew that they were being drugged so they wouldn't take the paper off during their trip back to the campus.

Sherlock found the reason behind the murder dull, especially since it technically wasn't a murder just some idiotic students playing games. He pulled John out of the room when he became bored with hearing Thomas cry about not wanting to go to jail.

They were silent the whole way back to the flat. Sherlock lost in the fact that the case wasn't as interesting as he thought, and still slightly sick from the drugs, and John keeping quiet just in case Sherlock was on the brink of going in to one of his moods and was afraid that if he spoke he'll push him over the edge.

Once back at the flat though Sherlock went to the bathroom to wash out his mouth and asked him if he wanted tea. "I think I'll go to sleep," John told him. "Which I advise you to do to so you can sleep off the effects of the drugs."

Sherlock looked at him through the kitchen door frame. "I'm fine," he told him.

"Sherlock, you've been up since four this morning and it's almost been twelve hours," John pointed out to him. "You haven't been sleeping all week, you need to at least get a few hours tonight."

Sherlock turned away from the blond and started fiddling with something on the counter. "Good night John," he said. He heard John step in to the kitchen and up to his side. "I'm not tired; just go to sleep without me."

John let out a puff of air. "You're going to kill yourself if you stay up every night," he said. He reached across the table and grabbed the working hands. "Just try, if you don't I'll hurt you when you past out next time."

Sherlock huffed and looked at John in the eyes. He kissed him lightly before resting his forehead against the others. "Fine," he let out. "I'll go to bed."

John smiled and laced his fingers with the ones on the larger hand. "I'll remember not to make it a habit to want you in the bed with me," he joked as he pulled the tall detective with him towards their bedroom. Sherlock smiled and thanked his lucky stars that he had John back again.

**So, that was long. It took me all week to write it. I finished it last night and was at a loss of what to do. I was planning on having out to you guys last Monday but I couldn't finish it in time and haven't had the internet to post it. So I hope you guys liked it, it was a lot of fun to write. I guess I'll leave it at that. Oh yes questions, I had question for you guys but what were they? Man I can't remember most of them but there is one that really isn't important at all and most likely won't be done unless it's in high demand. I really want to have John shoveling snow and yelling at Sherlock for not helping, so I was going to have them go to Massachusetts on a case, being undercover agents of course, during the winter time. The reason I want it to be placed in Mass is because I have no clue of the snowing conditions in the UK, and I know it snows a lot here sometimes, well not much this winter, and it also gives me false hope that I'll be able to meet Sherlock and John, even if they are fictional characters. So if you can give me some feedback on that, whether you would like that or not, that would be great. Well that's all for now. BYE! **


	13. Chapter 13

**Alright peeps listen up. I told my friend that I wasn't going to post for a month so don't tell her this is going up okay. So here's the next chapter if you already haven't noticed that it's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy it and I'm talking in a gruff voice for some reason. YEAH! Well yeah, now this is awkward. See ya.**

John shed his coat before he made it up the stairs. It was pouring out side and the garment was making him feel uncomfortable. He left it on the hook and hoped he wouldn't make Mrs. Hudson angry with him. That would be the last thing he would need, an angry landlady and a 33 year old child living in the flat.

John has been praying every night of the week for a case worthy enough for Sherlock to come along. Anytime the phone rang he would get his hopes up and would deflate when the call wasn't important. He just hoped that they got something to stimulate the man because on the last case Lestrade came in with a drugs bust and John learned all about Sherlock's old habits. He didn't want him doing something stupid just because the criminals of the world were being too stupid for him.

John was only half way up the stairs when he heard the first gun shot. He paused for a second before gathering his wits and rushing up the last few steps. He came through the open door to the living room and saw Sherlock pointing his own gun towards the wall. "What are you doing?" he called out just as another shot was fired. John attempted to cover his ears but was to slow as the madman shot off another bullet.

"Bored," Sherlock drawled from his slumped position in his chair.

John took a cautious step forward. "So shooting the wall will help you?" he asked.

Sherlock stoop up and fired another shot. "Bored!" he yelled before handing the gun to John. He fell back in to the chair with a huff. "Where have you been?" He called out as John left the room to hide his gun in a more secure place.

John came back in to the room with an incredulous look on his face. "Have you not been listening to what I've been saying for the last two days?" he asked, though he should have known that the man hadn't even been listening to him now. "I've been at work." He got a new job, after he was fired from his old one a few weeks ago; apparently they didn't like their workers showing up late covering in mud or not showing up at all.

Sherlock turned his head to look at him for the first time since he got home. His eyes searched over his body before turning to the mantle. "Prosaic," he droned striding over to the fire place with ease.

John cocked an eyebrow. "Prosaic?" he inquired.

"To dull to say dull," Sherlock drawled.

John dropped himself in to his chair. "Of course it is," he sighed. "Why don't you check you site?" He picked his laptop up and went to check out his own blog. It's been more active since he went to live with Sherlock; apparently people liked to read about a pompous three year old solving cases.

"People are wasting my time," Sherlock stated. "'Mr. Holmes help, I think my husband's cheating on me.' That's not even the worst, someone is asking whether or not they should take the job they going for. I'm a detective not a friend you go to advice for. Is that what friends are for? To give people like that advice, because if it is I'm glad I don't have any."

John gave him a disappointed look. "That's always nice to hear," he grumbled. He shut his laptop and pushed it to the coffee table. "I'll be going to sleep now; I don't want to accidentally ask you for advice." He knew that Sherlock was on edge and that he shouldn't be offended by anything the man said but he couldn't stop it. "Good night Sherlock."

"I didn't mean you John," Sherlock said as he watched him walked towards their room. "You know you're different."

John rolled his eyes and just continued on to the bedroom. He didn't have the strength to listen to Sherlock that night. He just wanted to shower and try to sleep.

-

John sighed as he dropped his coat on to its hook, sopping wet again due to the nonstop torrential rain that hasn't stopped since the beginning of the week. He believed that the weather was connected with Sherlock's mood, he didn't have much evidence at the moment but he'll have time to find out when he's getting berated by Sherlock.

He climbed the stairs happy that he didn't hear any gun shots. He now had to judge how his mood at home was going to be by the sounds that were coming from behind the door. Once John reached the door he placed his ear against it and waited to hear any type of noise; nothing came.

John pushed open the door and watched as a knife soured through the air embedding itself in the wall along five others. The doctor didn't even ask what he was doing; he knew that Sherlock's response would be another form of the word bored. John just shook his head walked over to the couch and started to dig out the knives. "I can't leave at home alone can I?" he asked. Another knife got lodged in the wall by him. "Gosh darn it Sherlock." John tore the knife out of the wall and turned around. "Do that again and I'll gut you like a fish."

Sherlock just stared at him, duct tape covering his mouth, and shrugged. John dropped his head and turned back around. "I'm not even going to ask," he sighed. He got all the knives out of the wall and made sure to get any remaining from Sherlock. He walked to the kitchen gathered any from the draws and made his way down the stairs. "Thanks to you we're not allowed to use the knives until you learn to behave."

Mrs. Hudson appeared at her door with a worried look on her face. "Is everything alright?" she asked. She backed away when she saw what John was holding.

"I'm going to have you keep these at your place until the brat can learn how to use them properly," he snarled. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not dear," Mrs. Hudson said. She grabbed John's arm when he went for the door. "Don't go too hard on him; he can be a lot worse than this."

John sighed and kissed her cheek. "I know," he said and walked back up stairs. Sherlock hadn't moved from his spot in his chair. He rolls his eyes and flops down on the couch. "Come over here you big goof." He was smiling now; he couldn't stay mad at Sherlock when he was also suffering from boredom.

Sherlock stood from his chair; dressing gown hanging off his thin shoulders, and ambled over to John. The blond could see the evident smile on his face even if it was covered by tape, it reached his eyes and that's all he needed. The lanky detective fell to the couch; he settled himself so his head was placed in John's lap.

John dropped his hand down on Sherlock's face and took the corner of the tape. "This is going to hurt," he told him with a sympathetic smile; however, he wasn't sure why he was sympathetic the man put the tape there himself. Once the tape was off Sherlock rubbed the red around his mouth and stretched out his jaw and lips. "Why did you have this on you anyway?"

"Experiment," Sherlock stated with an amused smile on his face. "It didn't go as planned; I didn't want to pull off the tape myself though."

"Idiot," John grinned. He ran a finger over the red raw skin before shaking his head. "You're lucky I'm going to be here tomorrow. I can't at least keep you a little entertained."

Sherlock shut his eyes and snuggled closer to John. "Good," he let out.

John tangled his fingers in the dark curls and let out a loud yawn. "Right now though I'm going to sit here and pretend that you didn't almost lodge a knife in to my hand. And you are not allowed to get up without my permission."

"I wasn't even close to you," Sherlock grumbled in to his stomach. "You would have been able to stitch yourself up anyway."

John hit the top of his head eliciting a groan from Sherlock. "That's not the point," he growled, "I don't go around shooting at you do I?"

"You've shot over my shoulder does that count?" Sherlock questioned; his face turned up to look at John.

"No," John answered swiftly, "that was to save your life because you're an idiot." Sherlock fell back in to his lap with an incoherent mumble. John giggled at his childish action.

-

The next morning John woke to an empty bed; he swore there was a mad detective with him the night before. He shook his head as he climbed out to get dressed. Nothing much just pajama bottoms and shirt just in case someone came by; he wasn't planning on leaving the flat all day.

He walked out of the room and stepped in to the living room. The moment he did a ninja star whizzed by his face and got itself stuck in the door frame. John stared at it; his reflection showing on the shiny surface. He let out a huff before turning his head slowly towards the man who threw it. His face was emotionless as he stared at the grey pleased eyes across the room.

"You can't even gut a fish," Sherlock taunted.

John licked his lips slowly before turned sharply and marching out of the room. He quickly changed in to something suitable for outside and left the flat. His plans for the day ruined.

As John walked outside he wasn't sure where he was going or what he was going to do but knew he wasn't going to be returning any time soon. He turned up his collar against the rain and wind; he forgot that it was raining cats and dogs outside in his haste to leave.

He reached his hand in to his pocket reaching for his phone when he thought about who would be free during this time of day. All of his old friends work at the hospital and would be at work or sleeping so they wouldn't be any help and Sherlock was the reason he was getting soaked so why even think of calling him. He wasn't close enough to Lestrade to call him and he was probably working as well so he was a dead end also.

A black car pulled up alongside John as he was trying to find out the best thing to do at the moment. The window rolled down to reveal Mycroft's cheerful face. "Hello Dr. Watson," he said in a welcoming voice, "would you like a ride?"

John groaned inside his head before getting in the already open door. "Thanks Mycroft," he dictated trying to keep his annoyance out of his voice. "I'm not sure where I'm heading to yet. Sorry."

"No need to worry Dr. Watson, you can just come with me," Mycroft told him with a smooth smile.

John mentally hit himself. Why did he get in to the car? "Where are we going then?" he asked.

"Oh don't worry," Mycroft chuckled, it didn't soothe John's worries "it's just a little café down the road here." John nodded; he knew nothing he would say would get him out of the situation he put himself in.

John sat back in his seat thinking to himself. He would rather deal with a ninja star throwing detective, than his older brother.

**Okay, okay that was…I don't know. Anyway I want to share something with you all. I imagine all my readers live in one room with each other and gather around the computer when a new chapter comes out. One person reads it allowed and at the end you're all poking each other trying to get them to review. That's strange I know but if that was real, it would be amazing. That is all. BYE! **


	14. Chapter 14

**So yeah, I decided to try and get a new chapter out before this weekend. I hope you all will enjoy this. See ya.**

Sherlock buttoned up his shirt; he decided to get dressed and possibly go out when John got home. He knew he shouldn't have thrown the ninja star at his boyfriend but he didn't really care. He was anxious for the man to get home so he wasn't bored again. He flopped down in to his chair with a huff and crossed his arms. He checked his watch noting that John was out of the flat for three hours. That was ample enough of time to cool off, maybe have a pint or two; more than enough time if you asked Sherlock.

Sherlock heard the door at the bottom of the stairs open and shut but he didn't move a muscle. He listened as John's footsteps resonated throughout the flat. The detective brought his hands together under his chin; he watched as John made it to the door way. He had to suppress a smile; John was sopping wet and had traces of mud still left on him where the rain didn't wash it out. "You've been out long," he stated as he looked him over. He could tell that he didn't go to a bar; he didn't smell like the dingy place, if he did he would be able to smell it from where he was sitting. "Where did you go?"

John didn't answer; he picked himself up from the door frame he was leaning on and dragged himself over to Sherlock. He braced himself with one arm and dropped in to the genius's lap. "I hate your brother," he mumbled in to Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock stopped himself from cringing as he felt the cold water soak through his clean clothes. "Ah, you were with him," he got out. "I'm glad we're on the same page about him also. Now my next question; why are you soaking wet? My brother is evil but not evil enough to not give you a ride back."

"I didn't want one," John told him. "I asked to be dropped off at the park. I wanted to have a walk around despite the rain."

Sherlock scrunched up his nose; he didn't understand John's actions sometimes. "Anything else you want to tell me?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. He already knew what happened in the park but he wanted to hear it from John.

"As I was walking I saw a lady slip to the ground," John answered almost shamefully.

"And you being the knight in shining armor you went to go help her," Sherlock continued on for him. "On the way you slipped in the grass and fell also. Am I right? Of course I'm right. She stole your wallet you know."

John let out a loud groan. "Yeah; found that out when I wanted to take a cab but didn't have enough money," he stated. He lifted his head and looked down at Sherlock. "Why are you dressed?"

"Would you prefer me not dressed?" Sherlock asked with a mischievous smile on his face. John rolled his eyes and got up off the other man. Sherlock stood also. "I was actually going to wait for you to get home with hopes that we could go out for lunch. Obviously we can't."

John raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes was going to take me out for lunch?" he asked in faux surprise. "Do you have a case on?" Sherlock shook his head. "Are you predicting someone is going to get killed at the restaurant we'll be going to?"

"No John," Sherlock drawled. "It was just going to be a normal lunch."

"Let me take a shower and we can go," John said happily. He bounded out of the room leaving Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at the spot John turned around before shaking himself and walking to the bedroom. He changed in to something dry; he shook his head when he laid out his wet clothes. He glanced around the room slowly and was slightly surprised by how clean it was. He half expected they would be fighting about dirty clothes and experiments all over the floor but they weren't in school anymore. They had a flat together and they had everything they own practically out in the more lived in area; it was mostly Sherlock's stuff though, John was neater than he was when he was younger.

Sherlock sighed; they've both changed so much. John became an even better man and Sherlock became colder and created more distance between people. He did it to protect the people around him; he didn't want to become broken like he did with John. But then John returned and he changed his ruling and allowed himself to get close to the doctor. He felt foolish to think that he was ever going to be over the best person in his life.

The door behind him opened shaking him from his thoughts. "Are you ready to go?" John asked; Sherlock could hear the smile in his voice.

Sherlock turned and faced the other man. He strode forward and wrapped his arms around John's shoulders. "I love you," he expressed. He could feel John stiffen under him. It was the first time in fifteen years that he said those three words.

John relaxed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him in to a tighter embrace. "I love you too," he breathed out.

X

Sherlock smiled towards Angelo as he entered the restaurant. He knew the man was going to be excited to see him after so long. The older man smiled back at him and nodded towards the same table he always took. Sherlock tugged lightly on John's elbow guiding him to the small table by the window overlooking the streets of London.

"Sherlock," Angelo's cherry voice was heard over the dull noise in the restaurant. He clapped the detective on the shoulder and looked at John with pride in his eyes. "If only I could tell you how much I owed this man. He saved my life."

"I stopped you from serving time in prison for a murder," Sherlock reminded him; if he let him the man would go on about Sherlock being his hero and stopped him from being hung. "Even still you went to prison. He was breaking in to a house instead of committing murder."

John nodded amused at how uncomfortable Sherlock looked; the man was acting like he had a spider crawling up his trousers. "He's very good at putting the right people in prison for what they did," he announced.

"Darn right," Angelo said patting John on the back with the menus. "Anything you guys want; it's on me. I hope you enjoy your meal." He walked away, stopping at random tables seeing how people's meals were.

Sherlock let out a stressed sigh as he picked up his menu. "That's Angelo," he murmured. "I think he's one of my most energetic clients I've ever had."

John bobbed behind his menu. "Do all your clients give you free things?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock answered.

"Man," the blond cursed, "I was hoping to get free groceries at the store."

Sherlock chuckled; he laid down his menu and sat back in his chair. "I can get a way for you to have free groceries in a store," he told him. John gave him a look which made him laugh even more. "Not by killing anyone, don't worry."

"As flattered as I am that you would do that for me I think I can manage," John said. "Now; what are we going to get?"

X

Sherlock and John were getting ready to leave when Angelo stopped them again. "Have you heard anything about that one serial killer that steals people's shoes?" he asked.

Sherlock pulled on his jacket and thought back to the news he has seen recently. "Yes," he said after a moment, "it's not worth my time. The killer is obviously an amateur."

"I thought you would enjoy it," Angelo noted. "Anyway, have a good day you two."

They walked out of the restaurant silently until they entered a cab. "I read about the murders," John told him as they sat down. "I thought you would have been interested. The police are baffled..."

"No surprise there," Sherlock butted in.

"They're not sure why the guy takes the shoes," John continued ignoring Sherlock's comments.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Most likely some kind of fetish," he stated. He heard John sigh in defeat; he was just as annoyed that the crime wasn't interesting enough for him. He's been bored for too long.

**So did you all like it? If so PLEASE tell me! I am seriously begging; I crave reviews like it is Coca-Cola man and I drink a lot of that stuff. Okay now that we have that done I want to tell you all a story; I really hope people read this because this will be useless to tell you guys. Anyway; I started writing this series because of a picture I saw of Sherlock and John as teenagers and Sherlock was crying. I wanted so bad to have a story where Sherlock was crying and John was comforting him. Throughout the whole story Sherlock was supposed to lose his grandmother who he was very close with, but alas I never had her die in the story. She is dead though; because he got her violin. Bonus points if anyone can tell me who gave him the violin! Anyway, yeah, BYE! **


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello everyone! How are you? I've been missing you guys more and more lately so I decided to put up the new chapter. Here it is. See ya.**

John was on break when his phone rang. He checked the caller before he answered and sighed when he noticed it was Sherlock. The man has been driving him up the wall with the nonstop moaning and groaning about being bored. "Yes Sherlock?" he answered.

"I got something interesting in the mail today," Sherlock told him.

John could hear the joy in his voice. "Good for you," he uttered. "What did you get?"

"Shoes," Sherlock answered simply.

"Did you order shoes?" John asked; he wasn't sure why shoes would be interesting.

Sherlock laughed. "Don't be daft John," he said, "of course I didn't get shoes. These shoes are from our serial killer."

"You mean the Kicks Killer?" John questioned. "How do you know they're from him?"

Sherlock sighed. "Only you would give him that name," he stated. "I know they're from him because they came with a note." John didn't even have time to ask what the note said; Sherlock was already one step ahead of him. "'So you don't think I'm interesting enough. Then I will just have to do something about that.' He must be watching me somehow, or has someone else watching me. What do you think John?"

John rubbed the back of his neck; he definitely didn't know what to think. There was another criminal after Sherlock's attention. "I hope it's not Moriarty," he said aloud.

"It's not him." Sherlock said. "Mycroft was able to keep tabs on him; he's off on some stranded island."

"That's great to know," John grumbled. "Just go to Lestrade he might let you on the case."

"He'll certainly let me on the case," Sherlock mumbled happily. "When can you get off of work; I might need you."

John checked his watch; his break was over in ten minutes and his shift didn't end till five. "I can't leave any time soon," he told him. "I have a load of patients and paper work to do. I'll be home around five thirty though."

"Hi," Sherlock said.

John lifted the phone from his ear and looked at it. Who was Sherlock talking to? "Sherlock who's there?" he asked.

"I have an appointment scheduled," Sherlock said. John dropped his head in to his hands. "Yes, the name is Harold Butternick."

"Why didn't you tell me that you were going to come today?" John asked. "Why are you coming anyway?"

"I was bored today," Sherlock told him. "I figured I could visit you and get you out of work. Now that I have a serial killer to work with and thought you would like to join me to the yard."

The door opened to John's office and Sherlock walked in. They hung up their phones; John didn't look happy. "I hate you," he mumbled.

"Love you too," Sherlock said and sat down. "Let's go."

John opened his mouth then shut it again. He didn't know what to do with the man. "Sherlock," he started with an annoyed sigh, "I can't leave. Now, since you have an appointment I have to check you over. Take off your coat."

Sherlock stared at him with an incredulous look. "You can't be serious John," he said. "We don't have time for this, we need to leave now and get to the yard."

John gave him a look; Sherlock rolled his eyes and took off his jacket. "Have you been eating properly?" he asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Sherlock moaned. "My partner makes sure I eat every day."

John hummed. "Well last time I checked you practically threw a fit last night for dinner," he stated.

"Maybe I would have eaten it if it wasn't burnt," Sherlock argued.

John threw his hands up infuriated. "It was supposed to look like that!" he yelled. His eyes went wide and his face became neutral, he dropped his hands on the table. He took a few calming breaths before nodding to himself. "I can't leave."

Sherlock didn't move from his spot on the exam table. "Yes you can," he stated in the knowing way he always did.

John crossed his arms and blew out a puff of air. "Why do you think that?" he asked.

Sherlock leaned back on the table with a smug look on his face. "There are about four other doctors here, all of them out there socializing with each other," he started, "judging how tired you are you have been taking almost all the patients today. They could have taken a few themselves but they didn't." His tongue clicked at the end of his sentence.

"They've been swamped with patients too," John told him. "We have no patients right now; we're on break, that's why they're all standing out there."

Sherlock shook his head disappointed. "John they're taking advantage of you," he breathed out. "You're they're temp and they want to see how much work you can do for them. Also the person you're temping for is standing out there talking with his friends. I suggest that you get up and leave right now."

John glanced at the door, pursed his lips, and then looked back at the detective. He shrugged and grabbed his coat. "I guess I can go," he said, "I mean, when have you steered me wrong." He waited for Sherlock to get back in to his jacket. "Well, beside the few times I ended up in the headmaster's office, or, you know, the hospital."

Sherlock smiled and held the door open for John. "Don't forget the time I also got you arrested for car theft," he added.

"How can I ever forget that?" John cried humorously. "I met a guy named Co-Co, he was a nice fellow. He really loved ducks."

Sherlock's sonorous laughter filled the waiting area catching everyone's attention as they walked in. "Where are you going Doctor Watson?" one of the other doctors asked.

"I quit," John told them solidly. "It looks like you have enough hands to deal with these patients, you certainly don't need me." Another doctor opened her mouth to possibly tell him off but he was already out the door. John held his head high as he walked next to Sherlock. "Well, I hope you have enough saved up for this month's rent."

Sherlock waved the comment off and hailed a taxi. "Of course I have enough," he told him. They entered the cab that pulled up. "New Scotland Yard," he muttered to the driver. "You don't have to worry about that. All you have to worry about is the case. Now from what I gathered so far from the newspaper there is no clear connection between any of the victims."

"Maybe it's their shoes that connect them," John suggested.

Sherlock leaned back in to the seat and brought his hands together under his chin. "Possibly," he mumbled, "not likely though." He started whispering to himself so John took it as a sign to not disturb him.

John turned his head and looked out the window. The corner of his mouth twitched when he noticed it wasn't raining outside any more. 'I guess the weather is affected by Sherlock's moods,' he said to himself as they drove on to the Yard.

**Now I know it's not the best chapter I've ever had and it's not that long, but think of it as the pre-case chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and please review. Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, or if everything is fine and you want more. It will make my day. Well, BYE!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Alright everyone! I have the new chapter. I'm really excited about this killer because it's going to be fun. Well maybe, I don't know but I know who the killer is. I hope you enjoy the new chapter that I have brought forth to you. See ya.**

Sherlock climbed out of the cab; with the package they stopped to pick up at Baker Street and left John behind to pay for the fare. He was wearing gloves and made sure not to let the box or the shoes inside it touch anything that it hasn't already. He waited impatiently for John to exit the taxi behind him before continuing in to the large building before him. Once he was caught up Sherlock walked quickly in to New Scotland Yard.

They caught an elevator and waited for it to reach Lestrade's floor. Sherlock was leaning against the wall with his eyes shut. John was leaning against the other wall tapping on the railing. "Stop that," Sherlock mumbled.

"Stop what?" John asked as he continued the distracting noise.

Sherlock's hand shot out and hit his hand away from the railing. "You're being annoying," he said. He heard John let out sigh before turning back to his thoughts. He rolled his eyes under his lids. "Don't even start."

"What?" John almost yelled. "I wasn't going to do anything."

"Yes you were," Sherlock said. "You were going to start whistling or singing the song you heard on the radio earlier."

The doors slid open and John stepped out first. "Now you're being ridiculous, I was not going to start singing or whatever," John retorted. "What happened to the nice person that got me out of work?"

Sally let out a high pitched laugh. "The Freak, nice?" she laughed. "He really does have you brainwashed doesn't he?"

"Why don't you do us a favor and shut it Donovan," Sherlock suggested as he walked past her. He barged in to the DI's office and shouted, "Lestrade!"

Lestrade didn't look startled at all; he just dropped his head in to his hands with a loud sigh. "What do you want Sherlock?" he asked. He didn't sound happy to see the consulting detective.

Sherlock placed the box he was carrying on Lestrade's desk and pulled out the shoes. "I've got these," he said as an explanation.

"That's great, you've got stilettos," Lestrade said. "I will support you no matter what road you go down."

John let out a chuckle before slamming his mouth closed under Sherlock's glare. "No," Sherlock growled through his teeth, "the killer sent them to me."

"Which killer?" Lestrade inquired.

"The kicks killer," John piped up.

"Are you talking about the guy that takes shoes after he kills everyone?" Lestrade asked and the two other men nodded. "I'm not on that case."

Sherlock didn't let his gaze waver. "Who is?" he asked.

"Dimmock," Lestrade answered easily.

Sherlock groaned and dropped his head on to his chest. "What's wrong with Dimmock being on the case?" John asked.

Lestrade got a horribly evil grin on his face. "He doesn't like Sherlock," he told him.

John glanced at Sherlock who was shooting glares at Lestrade but not stopping him either. He looked back towards the DI, with a large grin on his face. "Why?" he questioned.

"One day," Greg started, "this genius decides to show up at a crime scene high as a kite. When he was going over the body, checking for his little clues, he puked on the victims face. Luckily they still caught the killer."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and straightened his shirt; he was trying to keep the dignity he still somehow had. "That was the day I sobered up," he added to the story. "I couldn't do what I wanted if I was going to ruin the evidence." He put the shoes back in the box and started for the door. "Where can I find Detective Inspector Dimmock?"

"He's at a scene now," Lestrade told him. "But he won't let you on."

"I have the shoes," Sherlock stated, "he'll have to allow me on. The address would be great." Lestrade rattled off the address and Sherlock was out of the room in a flash.

X

Sherlock stood on the outskirts of the crime scene, tapping angrily against the side of his box. He told one officer to tell Dimmock that he was there and would like to speak with him. It took a great deal just to get the person to go talk with the DI. He had to wait for him, which meant that John had free range to talk to him about anything he wanted to, and he chose the most mundane topic Sherlock could think of.

"Today is a nice day," John stated as he looked around. "Beautiful weather don't you think?"

Sherlock groaned. If he didn't have to play nice and try not to end up in jail this time he would have stalked over to the dead body and start deducing everything he could and make the police look like idiots. But no, he had to wait for permission to do that. So he opted on saying, "Yes, a wonderful day for a murder."

"Sherlock Holmes," Dimmock said as he sauntered over. "I hear you want to get on my scene. Well today's not your day, we have everything under control and unlike Lestrade, we don't need you."

"Cleary," Sherlock mumbled. John took a sharp intake of breath and was about to complain but Sherlock was already off on his deduction. "You have bags under your eyes from staying up late every night trying to get a lead on the killer. Your nails are bitten all the way to the skin from anxiety, you're afraid people will start blaming you all the deaths; that's new. Also," he paused and looked the other man up and down, "you've hadn't had sex with your wife for about four weeks. But that has nothing to do with the case."

John shut his eyes and shook his head. "This is not how you get on someone's good side," he whispered.

Dimmock looked ready to sock Sherlock in the face. "Mr. Holmes," he said calmly, "Lestrade called and said you might have something I want; although I don't really want you around the body, I might be willing to let you on. Show me what's in the box first; I'm assuming it's the thing."

Sherlock knew Lestrade didn't call Dimmock; he was just giving in knowing that Sherlock was right and that he needed his help. He just decided to go in a more dignified way. The consulting detective smiled as he opened the box and pulled out the shoes. He dangled them in front Of Dimmock's face. "I received these in the mail today," he told him. "With a note."

"A note?" Dimmock questioned. "What did the note say?" Sherlock reached in to the bottom of the box and pulled out the piece of paper, Dimmock read it over once before shutting his eyes and nodding. "You have ten minutes with the body; if you can't give me any news then you're off the case."

Sherlock handed the DI the box and held up the police tape. "You can take that to check for any 'clues'," he said. "Come along John."

X

Sherlock was crouched over the body. It was a woman, about thirty years old, with already silvering hair. The stilettos were from here; she wore them every day judging from the muscles in her legs. They were also bound before she was killed; the killer didn't want her kicking him, but the ropes were removed, only the burns when she struggled remained.

He leaned down and sniffed her mouth; she wasn't drugged and had no type of alcohol on her breath. She was conscious and saw her killer the whole time. That wasn't any help though; she was dead she could not tell him who she saw he had to find out himself. He checked her pockets, nothing was in there. He needed her purse.

He stood and glanced around the room. "Where's her purse?" he asked.

"It's bagged and tagged already," Dimmock told him. "It should be in the evidence truck."

Sherlock stared at him for a bit. "Well," he started.

"Well what?" Dimmock asked.

"Go get it for me," he demanded, "I need to see its contents." Dimmock looked as if he was going to argue but just let it slide and walked out of the room.

"What do you have so far?" John asked; speaking for the first time since they've entered the scene.

Sherlock was silent for a moment. "She's from London," he stated, "not far from her though. The mud on her shoes matches the mud by the bakery down the street."

"How do you know she doesn't walk by there?" John asked.

Sherlock smirked. That's one reason he loved John; he would always question him and not just blindly follow him, it made Sherlock think about what he was saying. "No, she's wealthy she doesn't walk anywhere unless it's around a store," he told him. When he got a vacant look he decided he would also have to explain that. "Her clothes all have big names on them, also her shoes. They're not that taken care of; the bottoms are worn out, but there aren't any scratches or stones stuck in the grooves they're just flat on the bottom. So she doesn't walk outside enough to get stones stuck in her shoes or to cut up the bottom, but she does step in the mud puddles that accumulate outside of the bakery she lives above."

John nodded. "That's brilliant," he said. "I guess you get tired of hearing that all the time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Never," he huffed and walked out of the room. "Dimmock where are you with the purse?"

Dimmock showed up around the corner without the purse. "It's been stolen," he told him. "But the thief left a note. It's for you."

Sherlock let out a sigh. He read, "Come play with me Sherlock." He turned it over; there was an address on the back. "Play we shall."

**Are you ready to play this game dear readers? Well I** **am. Can anyone guess who the killer is? If you do I'll get you forty million babies. Oh, yes, please review and send your love and or hate my way. BYE!**


	17. Chapter 17

**So I promised someone that I would have this chapter out by today or tomorrow. I decided today. So I have the new chapter here. As the operator of this fic I am obligated to tell you to keep your arms and legs inside this fic at all times and enjoy the ride. See ya.**

John was overwhelmed by the whole case they were on. He couldn't handle another fanatic trying to get Sherlock's attention by killing someone. There were other ways that didn't involve searching over a body for the next clue. He was tired of the cryptic messages that kept both of them on edge. They hadn't had a decent conversation in the last week.

Whenever they were in the same room they always ended up in an argument. John couldn't do anything to help Sherlock; he was not needed. Sherlock told him he should stay somewhere else for the night because he was going to mess with his thinking process. John understood; he just stepped in to the flat, but he understood. Mycroft helped out that night and got him a room at a hotel. He ended up staying three days to let Sherlock have time to cool off and get work done. When John did return Sherlock told him that he was asking for tea all day. John just rolled his eyes and ignored the fact that Sherlock talked to him when he wasn't there.

X

One night John thought he would give the clue a try. He was looking at the picture of young man's tongue where a seven was carved. It wasn't that different from the other clues they were getting but it didn't make any sense. So far they had a number one and three letters, E, S, and a D. He was just staring at it, willing something to come to mind. He rearranged the other letters in his mind trying to find all the different combinations they could make. Nothing made sense.

He was hunched over the table when Sherlock ran in. John looked up at him and saw the small quirk of a smile on the other man's face before he turned back around.

"Get your coat on we have a body," Sherlock ordered as he threw John's coat towards him. "It's close by too, so you should be happy with that."

John blinked at him a few times before the words really registered in his head. He shook his head and stood quickly. He jammed his feet in his shoes and shoved his arms through his coat sleeves. "Let's go," he breathed out. "How close is it?"

"Next door," Sherlock said calmly as he started down the stairs. "I found the body when I was passing by. I called the police, Dimmock is on his way. Surprisingly he isn't very happy that I found the body."

John sighed. "He told you not to touch the body 'til he gets there didn't he?" he asked. He started to readjust his shoes. Sherlock remained silent. "But we're going to anyway. Come on we're wasting time."

Sherlock smiled and opened the door for him. "Brilliant John," he said.

They walked to the block of flats next door and made their way to the one with the dead body in it. When they stepped in the room John paused; the man lying on the floor was an older man. He looked to be at least sixty years old. He wasn't the neighbor he usually talked to when he past them on the street.

Sherlock bent down next to him and took on his thinking pose. "Can you give me an approximate?" he asked.

John grabbed the pair of rubber gloves from Sherlock and stretched them over his hands. He did his quick routine before nodding to himself. "He's been dead for about three hours," he said aloud. He then paused and looked around. There was a lot of blood on the floor. "He was killed here."

"He was," Sherlock stated. "Not like the others."

"I was home all morning," John told him, "how could I not have heard anything?"

John caught sight of Sherlock's quick smirk before he started talking. "The killer fancies the thrill," he said. "He knew you were home and wanted to show off his power. He's trying to be clever, but that's not going to work. He's not a very clever person."

"What do you mean?" inquired John as he watched Sherlock get to work. "He seems like a very clever person."

"He's not," Sherlock mumbled. "Even you're smarter than him."

John let the insult roll off of him. "When is Dimmock going to be here?" he questioned.

"Right now," Sherlock stated as he lifted the old man's arm.

"I hope you're not ruining my crime scene," Dimmock announced as he walked in to the room.

Sherlock didn't stop his searching. "I never ruin crime scenes," he shot back.

Dimmock crossed his arms and gave a look at the back of Sherlock's head. John decided to pipe up. "Have you gotten any further with the clues?" he asked.

"Of course he hasn't," Sherlock cut in.

"How did you see him in here Sherlock?" Dimmock asked.

John could tell there was an air of suspicion around the DI. He was holding himself differently and his voice sounded even more stressed. Sherlock definitely noticed the change also, so he said, "I didn't kill the man."

Dimmock shifted a little; John clenched his fist and was ready for an attack, luckily there wasn't one. "I never said that," Dimmock stated.

"You were thinking it," Sherlock retorted. "This investigation will go a lot smoother if you stop doubting me."

"So," Dimmock took in a deep breath, "how did you know it was here? This room is in the back, there is no way you could have seen him here."

Sherlock licked his lips before replying. "I knew he was going to strike close to home," he started. "It wasn't going to happen in our flat because he's not that stupid, so it had to be one of the neighbors. So while I was at St. Bart's working I cut down the odds. I narrowed it down to this flat and when I came to check it out he was lying here already dead."

John stared at him. "If you knew it was going to be close then why didn't you say something?" he asked.

"Because if I said something he would get scared off and end up leaving the body somewhere else," he explained. "Then I wouldn't be one step ahead."

John rubbed his face with his hands. He watched as Sherlock roamed around the room; around the actual police officers who were being paid.

It wasn't long for Sherlock to find the next clue. It was an 'R' on the back of the man's ankle. It didn't help them at all. It just made John even more frustrated.

X

John was sitting on the couch staring at the mantle; more specifically the skull that sat in its place on the mantle. He was bored and needed to talk with someone; the skull seemed to be the best option at the moment. He could always phone up a friend from the hospital; but he wasn't sure if they were mad at him or not.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out his phone. He was going to call someone he liked when Sherlock slammed his hands down on the table. John jumped and dropped his phone.

Sherlock pulled at his hair and growled. "I need to get to Bart's," he said aloud. He stood and quickly left the room.

John opened his mouth but shut it again. He was not ready for the sudden outburst, but then again it was Sherlock and he should have been used to it. He shook his head and grabbed his phone. If he was going to be left again he was going to do it with an old friend and a pint.

**I know these chapters seem to have nothing in them but they're all important I think. If you don't like it please tell me, because if you don't like it I want to improve it and make it better so it's good. I do hope you have enjoyed this chapter. I probably could have done more but I'm tired and want to get it out. BYE!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey everyone. How are you all? I'm good if everyone wants to know. I have this new chapter for you. I'm not sure if you're going to like it or not but I still have it. Well I don't have much to say except that I do hope to hear from you guys at the end of this chapter. Have fun. See ya. **

Sherlock could have called himself stupid in ten different languages. He didn't know how he missed the blatant fact before. All he had to do now was look at the victim's bodies again and he'll be able to connect them. Dimmock would be happy to have a lead and it would set Sherlock another step to finding the potential killer.

That's why he raced off to St. Bart's so he could get Molly to wheel them out for him. All he had to do was flash a smile and throw the right compliment her way and he had every victim that fell at the hand of the serial killer.

Sherlock looked at all of their feet with a smile on his face. Every victim had the same shoe size. He finally got the connection; one he should have gotten before he was even on the case. He quickly texted Dimmock his findings and bounced out of the morgue with joy, leaving behind a bewildered Molly. He hailed a taxi the moment he hit the pavement and was on his way to Scotland Yard. He needed to talk with the DI on the case.

X

Sherlock sat back in the chair in front of Dimmock's desk. He felt more confident now that he knew the connection between the victims. That's why he was suggestion a way to lure the killer out of the shadows. Dimmock did not like the suggestion.

"We are not sending one of my men out in to the firing line just because you got a hunch," Dimmock told him. There was a stern look on his face but it had no effect on Sherlock. "I don't care what you have to say."

"It's not just a hunch," Sherlock told him smoothly, "it's the truth. The man is going after anyone with his shoe size. They're most likely his size, he takes the shoes as a memento, but he doesn't just want to keep them he wants to flaunt them, like he flaunted his "cleverness" earlier today. Inspector, it's the best option we have at the moment."

Dimmock sighed, he looked like he was about to crack and give into Sherlock. "No," he said flatly. "I'm not going to set my officers out there. It would just be a huge waste of time. The killer will know they're cops and not try anything. Plus there are hundreds of people with the same shoe size. It's too unpredictable."

"He stays within a one hundred yard radius," Sherlock let out. "It's his comfort zone. There can't be that many people with the same shoe size in the area."

Dimmock sat back in his chair rubbing his face. Sherlock noticed that he hasn't shaved in four days and his shirt was at least two days old. He knew he was moments away from cracking the man and letting Sherlock take the reins on the case. "I can't let you do it," Dimmock told him.

Sherlock had to give the man some credit; he was almost as stubborn as Sherlock was. He slowly stood from his chair and nodded. "Fine," he huffed. "Then can I at least have the files on all the victims?"

"I'll send copies to your flat later," Dimmock told him. "I can't allow you to have them. Good bye Mr. Holmes."

"Good bye Detective Inspector," Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he walked to the elevator.

X

Sherlock went home late that night. He spent his time walking around the city looking at anything that would peak his interest, anything that would keep his mind on the case. He focused mainly on the people of London's feet. He was trying to find out what could interest a person enough to kill for the things people wore over them. Nothing came to him unfortunately.

He got home around one in the morning. He quickly checked to see if John was in their room. The army doctor was making quiet noises in his sleep but Sherlock ignored them. He was able to deduce that John couldn't get a hold of any of his friends and stayed home the whole night.

Sherlock shut the door quietly and shuffled out to the living room. He fell to the couch and reached for the large envelope sitting on the coffee table. He opened it up, dumping its contents over the small table. All the information that Dimmock could give him was neatly stacked in front of him. He picked up the first sheet of paper and started reading.

He was only ten pages in when John stumbled out of the room. Sherlock didn't pay much mind to it; he figured John just needed a drink. He didn't stop reading until he noticed that he read the same sentence four times. He shut his eyes and shook his head. He heard John trying to get something out of the cupboard.

Sherlock was going to start reading again when he heard a crash come from the kitchen. He lifted his head; he saw John leaning against the counter, he was taking in large breaths of air as if to calm himself down. Sherlock stood and walked slowly to the kitchen.

John's face was red, his fist were clenched on the counter. His eyes were glues shut and his tongue kept darting out to lick his lips. Sherlock knew right away that the man had had a nightmare and was trying to come down from the scare. Sherlock swallowed and stepped further in to the kitchen. "John," he said quietly. "John."

John's head snapped in his direction. His eyes were blood shot and puffy. "Sherlock," he sounded flat. "What do you want?"

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked. He knew how the nightmares were; sometimes they didn't stop when John woke up.

John shook his head and picked up the cup he dropped. "I'm in 221 B, Baker Street. Where else would I be?" he asked.

Sherlock let out a breath of air in relief. He wouldn't have to deal with a delusional John that night. He rubbed his face and waited for John to gulp down the glass of water he poured for himself. "I'll get back to work then," he stated and walked back to the couch. He grabbed the folder and lain himself across the sofa.

John dragged himself over to the genius and dropped himself on to the other end of the couch. Sherlock groaned and tried glaring at him through the papers. "Let me just lay here for a bit," John muttered. His eyes were already shutting.

"John," he said in an annoyed tone, "I need to work and you're being distracting."

"Sherlock, shut up," John told him. Sherlock shut his mouth and didn't say anything else. He went right back to work.

X

An hour later Sherlock was engrossed in his work still. John was snoring quietly at his feet. Somehow they got tangled up in each other though. Sherlock had his legs on either side of John, his knees were up; and John's right foot was on top of Sherlock's chest while the other one lay next to him. Sherlock wasn't sure how they got in to the position they were in but he was comfortable.

He was running his finger up and down lightly on John's foot as he read. He flipped the last page of the report and sighed. It was the last file he had. He threw it to the pile on the coffee table. He tilted his head and watched John's foot twitch.

Something clicked inside Sherlock's head. He ran his finger from the bottom of John's foot to the top of his biggest toe. "John," he said quietly. He sat up straight, jerking John awake too. "John, your feet."

"What are you going on about Sherlock?" John asked blurry eyed.

"Brilliant," Sherlock muttered. "Your feet John, they're just what I need."

"Oh god," John let out. "Sally was right; you're going to kill me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, Sally is never right," he said. "You're the same size as all the victims. I'm going to need your help."

"I'm already helping you," John mumbled as he tried to go to sleep again.

"No, I need you to be bait," Sherlock told him.

John nodded already half asleep. "Okay Sherlock," he whispered before falling back to sleep.

**I know it's not much and you'll probably not tell me it's horrible but I can ask right? Did you guys like it, hate it? I would definitely love to hear from all of you. I'll leave you all to it now. I'm on my way to New York; I'm going to see War Horse on Broadway. I hope you guys enjoy the rest of you day/night. BYE! **


	19. Chapter 19

**So I made a promise to have this out by today at the latest. Here it is! I hope you guys like it. See ya.**

John shook his head; he was getting ready for the day when Sherlock reminded him that he promised to do something for him. "I am not your puppet Sherlock," he told him. He slipped on his nice jacket and was about to leave when Sherlock stopped him.

"I know you're not my puppet but I need you to just do this for me," Sherlock told him, he was almost pleading with the other man. "You told me you would do it last night."

John let out a frustrated sigh; he didn't understand why he did things when he was half asleep. "And now, when I'm a little more lucid, I'm telling you no," he said, his tone making it final.

Sherlock didn't understand him. "You won't get hurt," he stated, "I don't think the killer would even try."

"I don't care about getting hurt," John told him. He put his hands on his shoulders. "I'm not going to let you dangle me like a piece of meat in front of the killer. I have to go."

Sherlock's face screwed up. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"I have a job interview," John told him. "I would actually like to be on time for it too."

Sherlock groaned. "You'll never be able to keep it," he told him. "You'll get too bored."

John rolled his eyes and let go of the consulting detective. "Well, some of us have to grow up," he called as he ran down the stairs, "we all can't be Peter Pan."

As John settle in the cab he hailed he received a text.

**I'm not sure who Peter Pan is, but I'm taking it as an insult –SH**

John laughed shortly and pocketed his phone. He was going to let the genius figure out who Peter Pan was on his own.

X

John tapped his fingers lightly on the chair as the interviewer looked over his résumé. The man, Mr. Grinds, had been reading over it for at least a half an hour already. John was sure he wasn't even reading it anymore; he just kept staring at the same spot. He didn't want to seem too anxious but he wasn't sure what to do. He leaned forward, about to say something but Mr. Grinds interrupted him.

"John Watson," Mr. Grinds said slowly, "do you write that one blog?"

John had to stop himself from sighing. If he still wanted the job then he would just have to humor the guy. "Yeah," he said, "you're talking about the Sherlock Holmes blog right?"

"Oh man," Mr. Grinds whistled. "I knew I recognized your name from somewhere. You help with solving crimes, that's so cool."

John smiled and nodded. Mr. Grinds was younger than him and seemed to be a big fan of his, if John played his cards right he could get a good paying job. "Yeah, it's fun sometimes," he confessed. "It gives me something to do with my spare time."

"Amazing," Mr. Grinds said. He stood from his desk and walked around to the front. He may have been younger but he was a good foot taller than John. "Well, I'm sorry to inform you that we won't be giving you the job."

John's smile faltered a bit. He stood up and nodded. "Thank you for giving up time to talk with me today," he said. He walked to the door and was about to open it when he turned back around. "If you don't mind me asking, why am I not getting the job? I mean you didn't ask me anything, you just stared at my résumé for the whole time I was here."

Mr. Grinds scrunched up his face. He looked a little uncomfortable. "You're unreliable," he told him. "You jump at a moment's notice to help out your friend Sherlock Holmes. Now I think that's cool but not cool for the work place, I can't have one of my doctors leave a boat load of patients for someone else to take care of."

John licked his lips and exited the room. He wasn't that angry, he was upset yes but it was nothing new. Sherlock was right, he wouldn't have been able to keep the job; he wasn't even able to get the job. He pulled out his phone and turned it on. He dialed Sherlock's number.

"You know I prefer texting," Sherlock answered.

"You cost me a job," John barked down the receiver. It was silent on the other end. "You know what; I'll be bait for you. Maybe I'll get lucky and the killer will murder me."

"That's the spirit John," Sherlock said. "Where are you? I have a body to examine and I can have the driver pick you up."

John told him the street he was on; luckily they were only a block away and reached him quickly. John climbed in next to Sherlock. "Where are we going?" he asked the moment he sat down. He noticed they were in one of Mycroft's cars; he's been in them enough times to know the feel of them, and the back of his drivers head.

"There's a body quite a ways from here," Sherlock told him. "Another precinct found a body that matches the style of our murderer here. They called Dimmock and in turn Dimmock called me."

"Off to Never land," John mumbled, looking out the window.

X

John stared out at the field of mud in front of them. The doctor stepped out and searched across the field for the police. He saw Dimmock walking towards them, his pants a little muddy. "Good, you're here," the detective inspector huffed.

Sherlock grabbed the gloves that were being held out to him. "Couldn't get anywhere without me could you?" he asked with a smug look on his face. "Typical."

John let out a sigh and followed the two to the body. "Did you find anything on the body?" he asked.

"Nothing so far," Dimmock answered.

John watched Sherlock bend down next to the body and instantly stand up. "Something's missing," he announced. John and Dimmock both gave him a confused look. "His watch is missing."

John bent down and looked at the place Sherlock was pointing at. There was a tan line where a watch used to be on his wrist. "Do you think the killer took it?" he asked.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "The killer let it there, but it must have come off in the mud."

"How can you tell?" Dimmock inquired. "He could have taken it."

"There's still an indent in his wrist," Sherlock pointed out. "If the watch was taken off when he was killed these indents wouldn't be there." He flipped the wrist over and saw an eye etched in the skin. "You found the body in the mud field," he stated. "We need to find the watch."

"You don't even know if the killer took it or not," Dimmock fought.

John took a step back when Sherlock rounded on the D.I.; he was not ready to get between the two. "Why do we have to find the watch Sherlock?" John asked.

"Look at the eye on the wrist," Sherlock told him.

John bent down and took a hold of the wrist. He noticed that the pupil looked like a clock face, the hands were even carved in. "So, the eye is a clue that tells us to find the watch? What would have happened if the watch didn't come off?" he questioned.

Sherlock waved him off. "We need to search the field," he told them. "Come on John."

John watched as Sherlock walked in to the field, the mud was up to his knees. John licked his lips and turned to Dimmock. "Where was the body found, do you know?" he asked. Dimmock pointed to a spot of darker mud. "Thanks." He took in a deep breath and started his journey in to the mud. It was colder than it looked; Sherlock didn't look affected by it at all. He bent down and copied the consulting detective's motions of walking with his hand combing through the mud.

When John reached Sherlock he could hear him mumbling to himself. "What are you saying?" the doctor asked.

"It's ten right now, the time on his wrist said 9:34," Sherlock told him. "I'm trying to figure out what the time could mean."

"I thought you would be trying to figure out why he went out of his comfort zone," John admitted. "Maybe you were wrong, and he's just messing with your head. Why do you always attract criminals that want to mess with you?"

"I don't know," Sherlock huffed. He pulled something up.

John chuckled when his face fell. He was holding a rock. "I do believe that's not a watch," he snickered. Sherlock shot him a nasty look before continuing his search.

X

John ran a mud caked hand through his hair. The day got hotter as it progressed, much more so than it said it would on the news. It was unnatural for it to be that hot during the winter. They were searching for two hours without any sign of the watch. The body was carted away and most everyone left, only a few officers stayed behind to help with the search.

John abandoned his coat along the side of the field where Sherlock's laid on the ground. He was covered in mud. The ground beneath his feet was slippery and he fell a few times. He wasn't the only one, Sherlock fell in face first. Dimmock even fell.

Tensions were high between everyone there. Everyone wanted to go home but they had to find the watch. Sherlock swore on his life that it was in the field. John believed him, he didn't know why, but he did. If he was a smarter man he would have hitched a ride back with the other officers and would have been sipping tea in his arm chair.

John personally wanted to hit the man next to him who was whistling a pop song. It was annoying and he did not need the song stuck in his head. He took in a deep breath and stood erect. "Hey," he gasped. The officer looked up. "Can you stop whistling please?"

The man's face contorted into something mean looking. "Listen, I'm not bothering anyone with it so why don't you shut up?" he snapped.

John took in a deep breath. He had to think of the situation from the officer's point of view. They were both covered in mud, the heat was beating on their backs, and they've been at it for hours; the day must have been getting to the man. John put up his hands in defense. "I understand," he told him. "I was just getting tired of the song is all, nothing personal." He put on a friendly smile that was supposed to ease the man's nerves but it seemed to fuel them.

The man lunged forward and tackled John to the ground. John was stunned for a second. When he came to his senses he tried pushing the man off him but his head was under the mud and he couldn't see where he was. He was pulled above the gunk and punched back down in to it. He couldn't even take a breath in before his head was under. He could feel the other's trying to pull the officer off his chest.

He finally felt the heavy man leave his chest and was pulled up for air. He stood, still breathing heavily, and watched as they brought the officer that tried to kill him to the side. He didn't even know the guy and he almost killed him. John was definitely having a good day. "I hate you so much Sherlock," he puffed. He spat out mud and tried his best to get it out of his nose.

"Love you too," Sherlock stated with a smile. He gave John's shoulder a good pat and went back to work.

"Do you want to go sit down?" Dimmock asked John.

John shook his head. "No," he said, "I'm finding that watch if it kills me."

"See," Sherlock said over his shoulder, "nothing like a life or death experience to get you motivated."

John rolled his eyes. As he was walking past Sherlock he pushed him over. "How's that for motivation?" he laughed.

X

John was sick and tired of looking. He's been at it for three hours and he was almost killed, and he had mud on every part of his body. He was about to tell Sherlock he hated him again when an officer raised her hand and yelled that she found it.

John's face lit up and he started to run towards her. He slipped a bit but caught himself. When he reached her he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her in the air. "Thank you so much!" he cried. "Oh god, I could kiss you!"

"Please don't," she laughed, "I don't think my husband would appreciate it."

John put her down and took the watch from her. He looked over it, it was gold and heavy, basically a normal watch. "Here you go," he said shoving it in to Sherlock's hands. He watched the genius fiddle with it a bit. He had no clue what was he was doing, or why they needed the watch but they had it and god he felt good. "Figured it out yet?" he asked, out of breath.

"I have an idea," Sherlock mumbled. He brought it close to his ear and shook it. A wide grin came to his face and he started to twist a knob on the side.

John watched and heard a faint click. The watch made a popping noise and, what looked like the bottom, slid out. "What the…?"

"Secret compartment," Sherlock mused, "neat." He pulled something out.

John couldn't see what it was. He tried looking but Sherlock covered it with his hand in rage. He threw it to the ground and started to stalk away. John watched him for a bit before turning to the discarded object.

Floating on top of the mud was a joker from a deck of playing cards. Written in messy handwriting was 'Jokes on you'.

**Wow, I don't know what to say to you guys. I also don't know where I got the idea of John almost dying from. Who cares, as long as you like it, right? So, I have to get going now, I still have homework to do. Please review if you liked it or even if you didn't, I'm open for anything right now. BYE!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Well this wasn't supposed to come out this soon. I forgot my computer charger at my dad's so I had to use my mom's computer. Anyway long story short I got you guys a new chapter. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.**

Sherlock scratched on his violin violently. He was pacing around the living room, his dressing gown fluttering behind him with each furious step. He was ignoring the two men who were sitting in the room. He growled and pulled his bow across the strings one last time before snapping towards Mycroft. "Tell mother I will not be attending the Christmas dinner," he said.

Mycroft smiled up at him from his spot on the chair. "She wants to see John," he informed Sherlock. "I'm sure John would like to join our family for Christmas again. He had a good time last time he went."

Sherlock turned slightly to John, who was sitting on the couch watching the two brothers. "That was fifteen years ago," Sherlock stated, "things have changed."

"Actually Sherlock," John started. Sherlock shot him a harsh look. The blond rolled his eyes and continued. "I would like to see your mother again. She was nice."

Sherlock stared at him for a second longer before turning towards Mycroft. "Fine," he huffed, "leave the invitation on the table on your way out."

Mycroft nodded and stood. "It will be a pleasure to see you both there," he said with a smile. He placed the invitation down and grabbed his umbrella. "I'll be off now. Good bye."

Sherlock watched him leave, raising his violin slowly back to his chin. "Why aren't you ready yet?" he asked John as he started playing again, this time a beautiful melody.

"Ready for what?" John asked.

"We have dinner reservations for Angelo's in a half hour," Sherlock explained. "I told you about this yesterday."

John shut his eyes and got up from the couch. "You didn't notice I was gone yesterday," he said. "That's okay, I'll get ready."

Sherlock smiled out the window. "I put your suit out on the bed," he called over his shoulder. He looked down at the people walking outside. He was looking at their shoes. All of them were different, all of them been to different places, all of them tell different stories. He was trying to figure out why the killer was so fascinated with them, trying to get in his head to see what was going on in there.

He let the killer mess with him; let himself get led down the wrong path. He hated himself for it; he should have known that nothing was going to come of the letters and numbers.

"How do I look?" John asked as he exited the bedroom.

Sherlock spun around and looked him over. "Marvelous," he stated. He dropped his violin on his chair and walked over to the other man. He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. "We should get going."

John grabbed his coat and held him close. "What if we just stay here?" he asked in a playful voice.

Sherlock pecked his lips and pulled himself away. "Angelo would be crushed if we didn't show up," he told him. "After dinner, if there hasn't been another murder."

"Ah, the criminals always trump sex," John cursed.

Sherlock chuckled and started to pull John to the door. "Not always," he comforted.

X

"Sherlock, John," Angelo boomed when the pair walked in. "Your table is right here." He guided them over to the table by the window. "Billy will be right over with your menus."

"Thank you," Sherlock said as he pulled out John's chair. He sat down and started to fiddle with the silverware.

"Why are we here?" John asked.

Sherlock gave him a confused look. "Can't I take you out to dinner?" he asked.

"You don't eat when you're on a case," John responded.

"It's been weeks," he pointed out. "If I didn't eat I would die. I understand that much."

Billy showed up and handed each of them their menus. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, nice to see you again. I'll be your waiter for the evening. I'll be back in a minute to get your orders."

Sherlock nodded and started to look over the menu. "I'm not going to lie," he said, "I made reservations here because I think it's near the spot our next victim will be killed."

"I knew there was something," John sighed.

Sherlock shut his eyes and let out a puff of air. "No, I also wanted to take you out to eat," he told him. "Plus, seeing you dressed up is always a pleasure, the only way I know how to get you in a suit is to take you to a restaurant."

John hummed. "Or you could follow me to interviews," he pointed out.

"You frown upon that last time I checked," Sherlock laughed. John laughed at that and left it there. Sherlock let himself get lost in his thoughts. He was trying to think of what connected all the victims. It had to be their shoes. The problem was he didn't know what the shoes were or what they looked like. All he had was the high heels that he got in the mail. He ran a hand through his hair; this case was proving to be an interesting one.

X

Sherlock pushed his plate away; he had enough to last him a few days. He glanced out the window and noticed someone from his homeless network leaning against a wall across the street. He quickly grabbed a napkin and started looking around for a pen. "Do you have a pen?" he asked John.

"Yeah," John started sarcastically, "I keep pens in my pockets all the time. Would you like a blue, black, red, or one of those where you can pick the color by pushing down a lever?"

Sherlock gave him a blank look. "You could have just said no," he told him. Billy walked up just in time and Sherlock quickly nabbed the pen out of his pocket. "I'll just be a minute." He slid out of the chair and ran out of the restaurant. He slipped a fifty in to the napkin and stalked across the street.

"Have you got any change?" the homeless man asked.

Sherlock held out his hand. "Here you go," he said.

The homeless man smiled and dropped the money and napkin in his pocket. "Thank you sir," he said.

The detective nodded and started back for the restaurant. When he entered he saw that the waiter was still there talking with John. He quickly took his seat as Billy scurried away. "Sorry about that," he mumbled to John.

"What were you doing?" John asked. "Did you just go out there to give that guy money?"

"The homeless problem in this country is just horrendous John," he explained, "I'm just doing my part to help."

"What was on the napkin?" John questioned with a smirk.

"Instructions," Sherlock replied, "nothing to worry about."

John nodded. "Okay, I'll leave it at that I guess. I'm guessing has to do with the case," he said.

"Correct," Sherlock said. He settled back in his chair and started to scan the room; looking at everyone's feet. There was a man across from them who decided to wear sandals out to eat, a woman wearing three inch heels, John was wearing his new black shoes that Sherlock bought him a month earlier; Angelo was wearing a pair of shoes that were just a size too small; he was in a hurry to get to work and accidentally put the wrong shoes on, their waiter had one a pair of old dark shoes with scuffs all over the bottom.

Billy came over with the check. "Have a nice night," he said with a large smile and left.

Sherlock looked at the small black book with a confused look. "I don't usually get a check here," he stated.

"Maybe he doesn't want to go out of business," John suggested.

"It's nothing to worry about," he said, "but, do you have any money on you?"

John chuckled and took out his wallet. "Surprisingly I do," he told him. He pulled out some cash and set it in the book.

Angelo walked over to them with a disappointed look on his face. "I told Billy not to give you a check," he told them. "He's been trouble ever since he started here. My wife told me to hire him, she knows his mother. He's been in all sorts of trouble with the police; she thought if he had this job he would straighten out."

Sherlock nodded. He took out the money and handed the book back to Angelo. "Thank you Angelo," he said with a smile. "Come on John, it's about time we head home." They left the restaurant and started their walk home. "That was nice."

John hummed in agreement. "It was a nice night," he stated, "despite you running out, of course."

"I had to get the word out that I was looking for someone," he explained. "I wasn't gone for long."

"You're right," John told him.

Sherlock smiled and draped an arm over John's shoulder and pulled him closer to his side. "I apologize for doing it," he told him.

"But you're not really sorry and I understand that," John told him. He took Sherlock's hand on his shoulder and held it to his lips. "I still love you."

Sherlock chuckled, his breath fogging in front of him. "That's good because I still love you."

X

Sherlock yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was on his laptop in bed looking up different obsessions with feet and shoes. He wasn't finding anything useful. He wasn't going to give up though. He checked the time before looking down at John. He was covered mostly by the heavy blanket they had to use because the heat was a bit dodgy.

A mumbled escaped the unconscious man's lips causing Sherlock to laugh. He put his hand gently on his head and started to run his fingers through his hair. He started a different search on Google and the endless scrolling down just trying to find something. The internet was a great invention but so many idiots put things on it it's hard to find the useful things.

He heard a frantic knock come from down stairs. He quickly shut his laptop and tried to get out of bed. John's arms around his hips tightened and he let out a tired groan. "John, there's someone at the door," Sherlock told him.

"Leave it," John slurred.

"Its 2:30 in the morning," he pointed out, "anyone who is knocking at our door must have important news." John let his grip loosen and Sherlock quickly slid out. He ran down the stairs and made sure Mrs. Hudson was still asleep. He opened the door and saw a teen covered in dirt and wearing rags. "Did you get something?" Sherlock asked excitedly.

"It's Fingers sir," he said. "He was killed by the shoe guy. I was told to come straight to you."

"Okay," Sherlock said, "wait here and I'll be back in a minute." He quickly ran up the stairs. He found his jacket and shoes and started putting them on.

"What wrong?" John asked.

Sherlock looked up at him and then continued on. "There's been a murder, care to join?" he asked. John didn't answer; he just started to get his things on also.

They hurried down the stairs where the kid was still waiting for them. "Alright show us where he is," Sherlock told him.

X

They arrived at the body; Sherlock phoned Dimmock to inform him of the murder. Sherlock walked around the body, taking in all the details he could. His feet were the same size as all the other victims, but they were dirty. He hadn't worn shoes in a while. "Are you sure it's the shoe killer?" he asked the teen.

"Because he found a pair of shoes the other day and started wearing them all the time," he explained. "He bragged about them to everyone. They were pretty nice too; I wish I had a pair like that. Now they're missing."

Sherlock nodded and continued his circling. He pulled on a pair of gloves and bent down next to the body. He started searching the body for any type of clue. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a napkin. It turned out to be the same napkin he gave the other guy earlier that night. "I gave this to Joshua," he said. "How did it end up in his pocket?" He flipped the napkin over and saw that it said something else on the back.

It read: 'Had a nice dinner?'

"The killer saw up at Angelo's John," Sherlock called over his shoulder. He stood up and spun around. "Do you know where Joshua is now?"

"He usually stays by the Ms. Pitts Bakery," he told him, "you know because she gives out left over bread at the end of the day. But he was beaten up pretty badly earlier and was brought to the hospital."

Sherlock cursed his bad luck. "I want you to stay here and wait for Detective Inspector Dimmock," he told the kid. "Tell him all you told me and tell him about Joshua in the hospital okay. Tell him to question him about his attacker." The teen bobbed his head. "Let's go John."

"What about the body?" John asked following behind Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. "We need to make a late night visit," he said with a smile.

**So, does anyone know who the killer is yet? Tell me your ideas. Also tell me what you thought of the chapter. I would love to know. I want to tell you all something about this. Next chapter will be the end of this killer, then I'll have Christmas come in to play, then I'll have probably one more killer arc. Now you know what to expect. I hope you all enjoy your day slash night. BYE!**


	21. Chapter 21

**I have a lot of time on my hands. I have a new chapter for you all. I'm not sure if you want it though. Oh well, I hope you enjoy. See ya.**

John had his hands shoved deep down in his jacket pockets, trying his hardest to get away from the cold. He was standing as close to Sherlock as he could without being totally on top of him. "He's not going to answer," he told the genius as he continued to press the buzzer for Angelo's flat. "We can wait 'til morning to ask him questions. I mean, we look like fools in our pajamas standing outside way too early in the morning."

Sherlock turned to him with a sharp look. He checked the time on his phone and let out a sigh. "I guess we can leave," he gave in.

"Thank you," John breathed out. He looked around the street; there were no cabs in sight. "Did you get a call from Dimmock about the body?" He stepped off the stairs and started the trek home. "I would have thought he might want to know what you can get from the scene."

"All I got was the note I left with Joshua," Sherlock explained. "I still have to ask that kid what the shoes looked like, and question Joshua about his beating."

John nodded with a large yawn. "Well you learned a bit about the shoes didn't you?" he asked.

"Yes," he agreed. "I've concluded that all the shoes have to be old and well worn."

"That makes sense," John told him. "The high heels you got were old and well worn. The shoes the homeless man had were most likely old."

Sherlock smirked and looked down at John. "How did you come up with that?" he asked.

"Well," John started before he shook his head. "No I'm not going to let you make fun of me." He's done it before; he's not so fond of being made in to an idiot.

"I genuinely want to know John," Sherlock told him. "It helps me."

John let out a sigh. "Well if the guy found the shoes in the garbage they must have been old," he told him. "Even if they weren't when they were thrown away, being in the garbage would give them that look. The killer might not know the difference."

"Good," Sherlock hummed. "You're right."

"No I'm not," John told him. "You're just saying that because you don't want me to feel bad."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "No, no you are right," he said as if the answer just hit him. "You heard Angelo right?"

"What are you talking about?" John questioned, he wasn't following where he was going.

"Oh John," Sherlock moaned, "this was a good case." He threw his arms in the air as if thanking the heavens. "We need to get back to Angelo's," he told him and turned around.

"Why?" John asked.

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and shook him. "Call Dimmock, tell him I know who the killer is!"

John didn't know what was happening. He fumbled with his pocket as he tried to get his phone out and chase after Sherlock at the same time. "Dimmock!" he yelled in to the receiver when the DI answered the phone. "Sherlock knows who the killer is." He gave the man the address and hung up. "Wait up Sherlock."

He caught up with the madman who was banging on the door as he pressed Angelo's button frantically. "Who's the killer?" John asked as he got his breath back.

"What?" Angelo's tired voice came through the intercom.

"It's Sherlock," he told the man. "Let me in, it's about a case."

"Is Angelo the killer?" John questioned.

Sherlock laughed. "John, think," he growled, "really think. Who was at the restaurant the two times we went to dinner on this case?"

John thought back to the times they ate there. Nothing seemed the same both times accept the spot they sat in. He couldn't, for the life of him remember anyone that was there. "Sherlock just tell me!" he shouted out of frustration.

"Come in," Angelo said as he appeared at the door.

John followed the two men up the stairs, checking behind him to see if the DI was coming. He slipped in to the flat and settled himself on the sidelines.

"What is this about?" Angelo asked.

John saw Sherlock's eyes shine and he couldn't help but smile. "What did Billy get arrested for?" he asked.

"When he was younger it was," Angelo paused to think, "shoes, I believe."

Things clicked in John's head. Now it seemed so obvious. Billy was the serial killer. "That's brilliant," he let out in awe.

"Can you give me Billy's address?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you really think he's the killer?" Angelo asked as he wrote down the address.

"John, let Dimmock in," Sherlock said before the buzzer sounded off.

John nodded and quickly made his way down to the front door. "We're right upstairs Detective Inspector," he told him as he opened the door. He led them up to the flat.

"You better not be messing with me Holmes," Dimmock announced as he entered the room.

Sherlock straightened his back and shot John a smile. "Our serial killer has an obsession with shoes," he explained. "That's all he wants, the things that goes on our feet. I've spent hours trying to find reasons why people are so attracted to shoes, to feet, anything that would pertain to the subject. I didn't find anything; it's a very big topic. Tonight when we were at Angelo's, I noticed the waiter's shoes."

"His shoes?" Dimmock inquired.

"Yes," Sherlock said, "they were old, well worn. They were like the shoes I was mailed, and the one's taken off the homeless man recently killed."

"That doesn't mean anything," Dimmock cut in. "He could just have old shoes."

John rubbed his temples with his fingers. "No, the killer had to be at the restaurant when we were there," Sherlock continued. "He had to be around when Angelo brought up the case."

"Actually, Billy did tell me about the serial killer, told me that Sherlock would like it," Angelo put his two cents in.

"See," Sherlock said, "this killer was all about getting my attention; if that doesn't raise a red flag then how about his shady past? If you look up his records you'll notice that all his arrest have been because he was stealing shoes." He handed him the piece of paper with Billy's address on it. "If you go to his place I'm sure you'll be able find all the missing shoes.

John sidled up next to Sherlock who was beaming with joy. "Now it makes sense why he asked me about my shoes at dinner," he told him. "I didn't think anything of it."

"You wouldn't," Sherlock stated. "Come on, I think it's time we get home."

"What, you don't want to go to the arrest?" John asked.

Sherlock waved his hand. "I'll probably see him tomorrow," he admitted.

John nodded and watched as Dimmock rushed out of the flat. He was yelling to Sherlock about something. John didn't hear it, but it must have been him saying something about if Sherlock was wrong. "I think home sounds like such a good idea right now," he said trying to hold back a yawn.

X

John woke up the next day, sometime in the late afternoon. He walked out in to the kitchen, seeing Sherlock up and chipper as he ever could be for not getting any sleep the night before and got himself some breakfast. "Have you been to Scotland Yard yet?" he asked.

"Yes, Billy wanted to speak with me," Sherlock told him. "He told me that he had fun and we should do it again next time."

John chuckled and shook his head. "Why do all the serial killers want you?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Some think they're better than me and can stump me," he answered. "I won't have to worry about this one though."

"Why is that?" John asked. He grabbed his toast and leaned against the counter next to Sherlock. "I mean I know he's in prison and all, but why are you so sure he won't try to contact you again."

Sherlock turned to look at him. "He won't last a week in prison," he told him. "I estimate he'll be dead by the end of this week."

John nodded and bit his toast. "Some men aren't built for the big house," he said. "You definitely wouldn't make it."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Yes I would," he huffed.

John laughed and stood up. "Whatever you say," he said. He gave him a peck on the cheek and left the room with a smile on his face.

**So, did anyone know who the killer was? I mean, I didn't make it that hard did I? No one is really telling me anything. I can't complain though, a review is a review no matter how many I get. So, tell me if you liked it, if you didn't, if you're sad that you continued on to the sequel. Look on the upside, you could have stayed with ****School Cannot Contain Us ****and had a really sad ending that needed more. Oh well, please let me know. I really have nothing else in my life. Well, that's all. BYE!**


	22. Chapter 22

**What's up my readers? How are you all? Up to anything fun? I've been doing some stuff, nothing that big, but you don't want to hear about it. So, I got this new chapter for you. Would you like it? I mean, if you don't I'll just throw it away. Okay? Alright. See ya. **

Sherlock groaned as he watched John pack for the both of them. He was lying on their bed with his long limbs spread over most of it. John was getting ready to spend a week at Sherlock's childhood home. Sherlock failed to remind the man who they were going until he noticed none of the bags were ready. He mentioned something earlier and received a curse from the doctor before he stormed off to their bedroom.

Sherlock was going to let him alone but he got bored and made the decision to hang out in the bedroom. Since then every attempt at conversation was ignored by John completely. "We'll be able to get your tuxedo while we're there," he said aloud. "My mother has mine hanging up in my old room, so we don't have to worry about that. Did you pack my purple shirt? I know you like it and it might make you happy that I wear it."

John threw clothes in to the suit case before turning to look at Sherlock with an 'I'm-mad-at-you' smile. "Sherlock, just shut up," he told him. "I'll pack whatever of yours I want. If I want to accidentally forget your boxers I can, okay?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "You wouldn't do that, you think it's unsanitary to go commando," he explained. He watched him take in a deep breath as he continued packing. Sherlock let out his breath slowly and rolled over on to his side. "My mother is happy you're coming," he told him, "she called me this morning to make sure we were still coming. I just want to warn you she might go overboard with affection. Well, you met her, you know how she is."

"I met her once," John stated, "I don't know how she is."

"I assume she's going to be worse because she hasn't seen both of us in years," Sherlock said. "Are you done packing yet?"

John threw a pillow at his face. "If you don't shut up I will strangle you," he told him. "No one would arrest me either because everyone at Scotland Yard hates you."

"That was harsh on many levels John," Sherlock pointed out. "You're just angry right now, when we get to my home you'll be able to rest properly. I know you didn't get a lot of sleep last night." Sherlock smirked at him when John turned to glare at him. "You can't glare at him, you had fun."

John shut the suit case and shook his head with a laugh. "Let's go," he said. "I want to get there as soon as possible."

Sherlock stood from the bed. "Yes," he said, sliding past John. "We can make it there late enough to have a quick chat and not feel obligated to go to stay up."

"I'll make you stay and talk," John told him.

Sherlock sent an evil smile to John. "I love you too John," he told him.

X

Sherlock glared up at large house as they approached it in the cab. "Home sweet home," he said bitterly.

John reached over and grabbed his hand. "I don't know why you don't like it," he told him, "I would have killed to grow up in a place like this."

Sherlock shook his head. The driver stopped at the front gates to let them out. Sherlock paid him before he stepped out on the road. "You didn't have to grow up with the people in it," he growled. He grabbed the luggage out of the back and started up the small hill.

"Sherlock, slow down," John barked as he chased after the detective.

Sherlock did as he was told, he turned to face John. "There's a reason why I haven't been here for so long," he told him. "I'm only here for you."

John shook his head. "No you're not," he stated, "you're here because you sort of miss you family."

"Whatever you say," Sherlock told him. He started stalking away again. He knocked on the front door and waited for someone to answer. "Hurry up John."

The door opened. "Sherlock," Cecilia Holmes's voice rang out. "My baby," she cried as she wrapped her arms around him. "Look at you."

Sherlock let out a calming breath and hugged her back. "Mother," he replied.

"Hello Mrs. Holmes," John said from behind Sherlock.

Cecilia's face lit up. "John," she let out. "You've grown so much since you were here last."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Can we go in?" he asked.

"Oh, where are my manners," Cecilia laughed. "Please, come in. There's food in the kitchen if you're hungry. Sherlock your grandfather is here, he heard you were coming early and would like to speak with you."

Sherlock puffed out his cheeks before nodding. "In the library as usual?" he asked as he started walking that way. "Don't frighten John away, I just got him back, wouldn't want to lose him again." He heard them laughing as he walked through the halls.

He reached the library quickly, knowing the quickest route there. He took in a deep breath and pushed open the doors. He saw his grandfather, Henry sitting in one of the winged backed chairs reading an old book. "Hello," he said to the older man.

Henry closed the book slowly and looked up at the genius. "Hello," he said.

Sherlock looked him in the eye. He looked older and weaker since the last time he saw him. It didn't take long for him to deduce what was wrong. "You're dying," he stated in a monotone. He wasn't going to let his emotions get the best of him on this one.

Henry laughed. "You're always so sharp," he said.

"How long?" Sherlock questioned. He didn't dare move closer, afraid that something would happen. He blinked his eyes a few times to work back the tears.

"No," Henry shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you."

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat. Henry has been there for him so many times in his life he's lost count. He wasn't ready for him to leave the world. "Not long then," he said with a sharp tongue.

Henry lifted himself out of the chair and walked over to Sherlock. He pulled him in to a hug. "I want to tell you," he told him, "before someone else told you." Sherlock wrapped his arms around the frail man.

"I don't want you to go," he cried. He didn't want to start crying, but one of the best people in his life was going to be leaving it soon and he couldn't stand the thought of it. "You can't." He knew the words were childish, they weren't true. He understood that everyone had to die.

"Sherlock," Henry whispered, "listen to me. I'm sorry; I don't want to ruin your holiday. I don't want you to cry, please stop."

Sherlock pulled away and wiped his face. He put on the best smile he could muster up. "John's here," he told him. "I'm not sure if you remember him."

Henry smiled and clapped his grandson the back. "Of course I remember John," he told him. "He was a nice young man."

"You should see him now," Sherlock laughed. "He was angry at me before we left. Told me he wasn't going to pack my boxers if I didn't leave him alone."

"That's why I never let your grandmother pack my clothes," Henry said.

Sherlock shrugged. "I couldn't live without him though," he admitted.

"I know how you feel," Henry stated.

Sherlock followed him out of the library. He was sad, but he wasn't going to let that ruin the time he was going to spend with him.

**Well this got sad pretty quick. I swear, it wasn't supposed to be like that. Also, sorry if Sherlock is a bit out of character in this one. Anyway, tell me what you think. I promise you the future chapters will be happier, I hope. So, yeah, tell me what you think in the pretty review box. I'll get the next one up soon. BYE! **


	23. Chapter 23

**Sup my readers? I hope you're all doing fine. I don't know why I put these things they don't pertain to the story at all. Well, here's a new chapter to all you lovely people. I hope you like it. See ya.**

John accepted the cup of tea Cecilia handed him. He blew on it before taking a much needed sip. He let out a content sigh as he relaxed. "How have you been?" he asked.

"I've have better days," she admitted. "Although it's gotten better since you two arrive. When I heard you got back together with Sherlock it made me so happy. He went down so many wrong paths without you."

John looked in to his tea. "I heard about some of the things he got up to in the last fifteen years," he said. "I feel a little responsible for the things he's done. I wish I stopped him from going out on his own. He put himself in so much danger."

Cecilia put down her cup and put a hand on his shoulder. "You shouldn't blame yourself for anything," she told him. "I may have geniuses for sons but sometimes they do the most stupid of things. Sherlock breaking up with you was one of the biggest he could make."

John looked up at her chuckling. "He really is an idiot isn't he," he laughed.

"Insulting me in front of my mother John?" Sherlock questioned as he walked in.

Cecilia laughed and nudged John. "We both were honey," she said. "I was just telling John how much I love that you two got back together."

"And how much an idiot you are," John piped up. "But that's why we love you."

Sherlock stared at him before nodding. "The abuse I have to live with," he mumbled. He turned to Cecilia. "Is my room ready?"

Cecilia nodded. "You can bring your bag up later though," she told him, "I want to spend some time with you."

John noticed someone standing towards the entrance of the room. "Hi," he waved.

Henry stepped forward. "Hello John," he said, "it's so nice to see you again."

John had a vacant look on his face before it clicked. "Henry," he smiled, "how have you been?"

Henry shrugged. "I've been good," he told him. "I've had some ups and downs lately but nothing that will affect me too much."

John nodded. "That's good," he said.

"So boys," Cecilia clapped her hands, "why don't you tell me what you've been up to?"

John glanced at Sherlock silently asking if he wanted to take the question. "I've been helping the police out on some case they deemed too difficult for them to handle," Sherlock answered. "John's been getting the shopping."

John laughed and lightly hit Sherlock on the arm. "I've been trying to find a job," he admitted. "I have a hard time keeping them since I'm usually out running around with Sherlock. I save his butt, don't let him tell you any different."

"He saves me and I save all of London," Sherlock stated, "who has a bigger job?"

"I do," John said. Everyone else started laughing as Sherlock pouted. He looked up at him with a smile. It faltered a little when he saw something off with Sherlock. He reached out grabbed his hand. Sherlock glanced at him quickly and saw a small smile on his lips.

X

John yawned as he lowered himself on the bed. They were in the kitchen for a long time and Cecilia let them go when it hit around one in the morning. He stretched his arms above his head watching Sherlock as he walked around the room. "Are you alright?" he questioned.

Sherlock paused for a second but continued on. "I'm perfectly fine," he told him.

John shook his head and let out a sigh. "I know you're not fine, something's on your mind," he told him. "What's going on in the head of yours?"

"My grandfather is dying," Sherlock told him, not stopping.

John opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was usually good at talking with someone about death. But it was Sherlock, he was different from other people, he wasn't sure what to say. "Save the whole, everything will be okay, he'll feel better soon, speech," Sherlock hissed, "I don't need to hear it. I'm not a child, I understand death."

"I wasn't going to say anything," John told him.

"Yes you were," Sherlock spat.

John shut his eyes and shook his head. "I was not," he said. "I don't know what to say because I know all of that won't work with you. Sherlock I care about you and I just want to make sure you're not suppressing something because you're afraid of the emotions. I've seen what that has done to people and I don't want it to happen to you."

"I'm not suppressing any emotions Doctor," Sherlock said, "as you can see I'm angry right now."

John dropped his head back on the pillow with a groan. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock almost yelled. "I want you to do nothing, I don't want you to talk about it, and I don't want you to think about it. I want you to forget I even told you, do you understand?"

"Sherlock," John sounded desperate.

"Please," Sherlock persisted.

John lifted his head and saw that Sherlock stopped moving and was staring at him. "Okay," he let in, "I'll forget about it. But if you want someone to speak to you know I'm here to listen." He got off the bed, stepping over the suitcase to get to Sherlock.

"Don't treat me like I'm some unstable mental patient," Sherlock told him.

John laughed and wrapped his arms around the taller man's waist. "No, I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "You're far worse than an unstable mental patient."

Sherlock smiled slightly and wrapped his arms about John. "Did you know I barely slept in this room," he stated. "I did a lot of experiments though. Tons, I'm mildly surprised I didn't find the cure for cancer when I was in here. Not that I was looking for it."

John gave him a kiss to shut him up. His smile dropped and his grip tightened on Sherlock's waist. "Sherlock," he said seriously, "you're grandfather is dying and I want to make sure you're okay with this. It seems to be affecting you in some way."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Everyone dies John," he told him. "I'm not going to let my grandfather's dying affect me so much that it control my life. I'm not going to break down crying just because someone's body is getting old and can no longer properly work itself. People over exaggerate death so much, the person's dead they can't care anymore. Their bodies go in to the ground then become worm food as I heard some people put it."

John let out a groan and dropped his head on Sherlock's chest. "So you won't be sad when I die?" he questioned.

"Of course not," Sherlock said John lifted his head with a surprised look on his face. "I'm going first."

**Just imagine them fighting on who's going to die first. Just do it because that's how the rest of their night is most likely going to go. Maybe something else I don't dare write, but I'll let you all use your imagination. I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell me what you thought in a review. I enjoy getting them. That's all. BYE!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hey guys! How are you all? I have a new chapter for you. I hope you enjoy it. See ya.**

Sherlock stalked across his bed room, sliding his bow across the strings of his old violin. The sun was rising, the soft light drifting through his open window. He was in his pajamas and an old dressing gown that his father owned. His eyes darted to John who was lying awake on the bed watching him. He knew exactly what he was thinking but decided he was going to keep his mouth shut for once.

John shifted further under the covers. "Please take off that thing," he pleaded, "it's making the room smell like smoke."

Sherlock continued to play. The dressing gown did smell of smoke. His father fathers smoked all the time, it was obvious that his clothes would absorb the smell. "If I take it off I'll be cold," he explained.

John rolled his eyes. "Then shut the window," he groaned.

"The clear air is helping me think," Sherlock responded quickly. He pulled his bow emitted a hollow, almost painful sound.

An arrow shot through the window and imbedded itself in Sherlock's wall. He rolled his eyes. He walked over to it and pulled the customary note off it. He read it silently before he turned to John who was staring at the arrow with wide eyes. "My cousin," he explained. "Mother wants us, we need to get your tux and do some more Christmas shopping."

John dropped his head back with a groan. He lifted the covers and got out of bed. "I might want to get dressed," he mumbled, "not everyone would appreciate a half-naked man walking around."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't mind," he said. He put down his violin on his bed and waited for John to get out of the suitcase. He had to tag along because he was getting his tux refitted and had some last minute shopping Cecilia was forcing him to do. He slid his hand across John's back and under the night shirt. "But my mother would kill you if you did."

John smiled. He had his clothes in his hands and turned to Sherlock. He got up on his toes and kissed him. "Get dressed," he told him. "Take the dressing gown off, I'll buy you one while we're out so you won't have to wear it again."

Sherlock pulled John back in as he tried to walk away. He stared into his eyes for a moment before ducking his head and kissing him. "I love you," he said as he pulled away. He let him go and gathered his clothes. He quickly changed out of his pajamas. He was done before John and decided to watch him. He was struggling with his jeans. It made Sherlock laugh as he hopped over the floor trying to get his feet though the pants. "Having trouble?"

"You're the genius," John huffed, "you deduce it." With one final shove he got his pants on. "Let's go."

Sherlock laughed and draped his arm over his shoulder. He leaned heavily against him, he knew John wouldn't mind. An arm snaked its way around his waist and Sherlock felt completely content for once.

X

Sherlock swore to god if the tailor poked him one more time with a needle he was going to lose control. He wished John didn't have to go off and get his tux then he would have at least been able to help Sherlock keep his cool. He shut his eyes and let out a frustrated breath as another stab hit his leg.

He decided to get his mind on something else. He pictured John in a tux; he could still see him from when they were still in school. He was angry at his brother for messing with his friend but was grateful at the same time. He remembered John looked handsome in the tux. It made him smile just at the thought. He wanted to see him in one again; it was one of the reasons why he agreed to come.

"All done Mr. Holmes," the older man said as he stood.

Sherlock was brought from his thoughts. He looked over his tux and nodded. "Good," he said. He went to the changing room and changed. He exited and walked out to the main room. He couldn't see John anywhere. He walked to a closed curtain and stopped outside it. "John, are you in there?" he asked.

"Don't come in," John called. "I'll be done in a moment."

"Fine," he mumbled. He leaned against the wall and waited for the man to come out. Once John walked out Sherlock caught him by the wrist to stop him from going further. He looked him over, his face was slightly flustered. "Are you alright?"

John smiled and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss. "I'm fine," he told him.

Sherlock nodded. "Why couldn't I go in there?" he questioned as they walked out.

"I want to surprise you with the tux," John admitted.

Sherlock nodded. "Let's go then," he sighed. "I'm sure mother is waiting for us."

X

Sherlock dragged John behind him as he navigated his way through the store. He had to buy a few presents for people he didn't even like. He was lucky to have John with him; he could rant about them without people giving him weird looks. "Do you remember the twins?" he asked.

John groaned. "Oh, god the annoying brother and sister?" he questioned with a pained look. "I thought I would have been rid of them years ago."

"Me too," he mumbled. "I was told they're arriving tomorrow, staying the night and leaving the next day." He pulled John over to some Christmas jumpers. "They're still as close as they possibly can be. Though, I heard they had a falling out a few years ago. Not like I care though."

John chuckled. "I can't believe how out of sorts you are with your family," he told him. "I'm not close to mine but I still see them more than you see yours."

"Well done John, you successfully pointed out the obvious," Sherlock mumbled. "I had a good reason to not see them."

"Yeah, what is that?"

"They didn't want me around and I didn't want them around," Sherlock told him. He shrugged his shoulders and moved away from the clothes. "No one wanted to attend the party with someone who was as messed up as me. I just stopped coming after my father told me that I was a disappointment on his death bed. I figured no one cared and tried to cut off all ties."

"I'm sorry," John let out.

Sherlock smiled at him quickly. "It's not your fault," he told him.

"If I didn't leave you," John started.

Sherlock quickly cut him off with a harsh look. "I left you," he stated. "I'm going to admit that it wasn't one of my best plans. But it was my decision not yours." He stepped closer to him and bent slightly to lay a small kiss on his lips. "Also, whatever stupid decisions I made after that were my own too. Stop beating yourself up over it. I'm getting tired of it."

John nodded. "Fine," he said.

Sherlock bobbed his head. "Good," he said. He lifted up a snow globe and shook it. "I think I can just buy them all snow globes and no one would care."

John laughed. "I think you may be right," he replied.

Sherlock grabbed six snow globes and started for the register. "It's excellent though," he said over his shoulder. "They won't want another gift from me again."

**I know, it's short, but it's just a filler chapter, nothing important really. Though, next chapter be prepared for the twins, if you remember them you should know what I'm talking about. Also, I created John's tux on a custom tux site and I think it looks amazing, so be prepared for the chapter after the next one, you'll see it then. Oh, and leave a review, tell me what you thought, I would love to hear about your thoughts. BYE!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey guys, I've feel like I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry for the long wait, I'll be better with updates. Um, I have a new chapter for you all. I do hope you enjoy it. See ya. **

John put down his fork quietly. Glancing around the table he saw that everyone else was still eating but him, and of course Sherlock. He leaned back, rubbed his stomach, and whispered in Sherlock's ear, "I think I'm getting used to eating like you." His stomach made an ugly noise; luckily the dining room was too loud for anyone to hear it but the two. "I can't eat another bite."

Sherlock laughed. "Then don't," he told him easily. He pushed around the potatoes on his plate. "No one will mind, especially not my mother if that's who you're worried about." John bit his lip as his stomach lurched again. Sherlock looked at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

John nodded weakly. "Of course," his voice was raspy. He wiped a hand across his forehead. "There used to be a time when I could finish a whole plate of food and now I can't even finish this one."

"You can't blame me on this one," Sherlock told him. He felt his forehead, nodding as he understood. "You have a fever. Mother," he stood up taking John's hand with him, "we're going back to my room."

John pulled at his hand effortlessly. "No, everyone isn't done eating," he stated looking at the others.

"John," Cecilia said calmly, "you're not feeling well, I'll let it pass this one time."

John shut his eyes and nodded. He stood up and leaned heavily into Sherlock's side as they walked out of the room. "I can't believe I had to do that," he groaned. He felt embarrassed. He hid his face the best he could in Sherlock's side.

"I think they're grateful that you're leaving the room and not getting them sick," Sherlock admitted. "The party is tomorrow and they all came to attend it. If something were to ruin that they would be very cross."

John nodded, feeling a bit dizzy. "I didn't feel this sick when I woke up," he told him. "I didn't feel this sick until it was mentioned to tell you the truth."

"You were forcing yourself not to believe you were sick," he explained. He pushed open his door and laid John down on the bed. "I'm going to undress you now, don't think of it as a sexual advancement."

John laughed. "Don't worry," he said. He helped get undressed before crawling under the covers. "Do you have medicine?"

Sherlock nodded silently and left the room. John stared at the door, waiting for him to come back. It was opened once again and Sherlock moved into the room with a cup and two tiny pills in his hand. "Here," he said handing them down to John.

John gratefully swallowed them, his stomach lurching again. "I hope I can hold down whatever is in my stomach," he admitted with a frown as he pushed himself further down on the bed. Sherlock sat on the bed next to him and ran his fingers through his hair. He loved the feeling, letting his eyes droop as he laid there. He fell asleep after a few minutes.

X

John didn't know when he woke up. His eyes roamed around the ceiling. The room was silent for the most part except for the wind that passed through the open window. He sat up, sweat making his hair stick to his head. He climbed out of bed and got dressed. He needed more medicine.

He ventured slowly out of the room, each step making him a bit dizzy. Walking down the hall way he noticed figures standing at the window. They turned to face him and John's stomach dropped. 'Not them,' he thought, 'anyone but them.' He shut his eyes and tried to walk past them but stopped when he heard them say something.

"John Watson," they said in unison. John hadn't seen them much the last time he was there but knew they were two people he didn't want to deal with.

He could barely remember their names, knew they both started with 'B'. "Hello," he said turning back to them, "nice to see you two again."

"Bridget," Bridget told him with a smile.

"Brian," Brian supplied. "I never believed I would see you again."

John resisted the urge to rub his temples. "I didn't either," he admitted. "If you don't mind, I would like to go find Sherlock now." He turned on his heel and started down the hall again.

"Sherlock was devastated without you," they said together.

John's hand twitched and stopped. "Thank you," he said. He could see why Sherlock didn't want to come; his family didn't seem to like him. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Was the break up the reason Sherlock started drugs?" Bridget asked.

Brian hummed. "I believe so, but we all knew he would go down that road," he told her. "He was never right in the head."

John took in a deep breath, the comment was directed towards him; he wasn't going to yell or fight them. He was too tired to do anything. "I'll be leaving now," he stated over his shoulder and left them behind.

The sick feeling in his stomach returned. He moved slowly down the stairs wishing Sherlock would appear so he didn't have to search for him. He found himself at the entrance to the living room where several people were sitting around. He couldn't see Sherlock anywhere but spotted Cecilia. "Mrs. Holmes," he said walking up to her.

"Please John, Cecilia," she repeated her request. Her eyes softened. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," John lied. "Where's Sherlock?" His heart was pounding; his energy was depleting fast. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Cecilia gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shoulder. "He's in his father's study," she told him. "Come on, I'll take you."

She led him down a few halls before coming to a dark door. John shot his eyes towards Cecilia, receiving a nod before she left. He rapped quickly on the door, not sure what to do.

"Honestly, can't you leave me alone?" Sherlock growled as he opened the door. He paused and frowned when he saw it was John. "Sorry, I didn't mean you. There are just people who want to talk to me and I would wish them to stop. Come in." He ushered him and shut the door behind them. "You're still sick."

John nodded, tried to focus his eyes on the man. "I need more medicine," his voice was going. He took in large breaths, and felt himself being guided to the couch in the room. He watched Sherlock move away from him before everything went dark.

X

John opened his eyes again, not much later, and saw two pills and water. He swallowed the medicine and looked up towards Sherlock. "Thank you," he groaned. Sherlock sat down next to him and pulled him to his chest before lying down. John put his face in the crook of his neck and shut his eyes. "I ran into your cousins, the twins, Bridget and Brian I think their names are."

"How did that go?" Sherlock laughed carding his fingers through his hair.

John shut his eyes and shook his head. "Why does everyone think I want to hear about you past drug use?" he asked. "I already know about it, you're not doing it now, so why? Are they trying to make me feel bad?" He was getting worked up which made him feel worse. He just wanted to spend a week relaxing but the people around him were making it impossible. Everyone seemed to be against Sherlock; they must have remembered every bad they he did instead of focusing on the good. He knew Sherlock was a good man; he seen him work, seen him save lives. "Why can't everyone see that?"

Sherlock shrugged. "They're like maggots. They only feed on the bad meat, which happens to be my past," he explained.

John hummed as Sherlock started rubbing his back. "Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize John, I'm tired of it," Sherlock told him. "You're the last person I want to apologize."

John smiled and kissed his cheek. "I love you Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"And I love you John Watson," Sherlock smiled back. "Do you want to go back up to my room?"

John nodded and stood up; stumbling and being caught by Sherlock. "Still a bit dizzy," he shook it off. He grasped Sherlock's hand and kissed his fingers. "Let's go."

X

John slipped into the bed. He watched as Sherlock dressed into his pajamas before getting in next to him. He wordlessly turned on his side. He sighed as Sherlock's arm wound around his waist and was pulled closer to him.

"Good night John," Sherlock whispered in his ear.

John shut his eyes, shivered as Sherlock's hand slipped under his shirt and settled on his stomach. "Good night," he murmured back. He listened to the other's breathing, wishing he was able to stop whatever it was that happened years before. He pushed the thoughts from his head, focusing only on what was happening then. He fell asleep, hoping everything would work out when he woke up.

**I don't know why I made John sick. It has no value what-so-ever. Please review, tell me what you think. I need to have feedback. Next chapter is the party, yay! Are we all going to dance? Okay, I'll leave you guys alone now. BYE! **


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello my friends. Are you ready for a story? I have a new chapter for you. I have a feeling you're going to like this one, it's a bit longer than the previous ones. Anyway, have a nice read. See ya. **

Sherlock woke up feeling like there was a heater sleeping on him. He groaned and opened his eyes, looking down at John's head on his chest. He rubbed his hand on John's back silently. He didn't feel hot anymore; maybe it was just because he was a heater anyway. Sherlock shook his shoulder lightly trying to wake him up.

"What?" John murmured sleepily.

"You have to get off of me," Sherlock told him. He tried to roll him off but he couldn't budge the doctor. "It's too hot."

John grumbled something and lifted himself off Sherlock. "What time is it?" he asked.

Sherlock turned to look at him. "It's three in the morning," he told him. He grabbed John's hand. "You were making me too hot."

John shook his head and looked at him with unfocused eyes. "You don't complain at home," he pointed out.

Sherlock laughed. "Our place has shoddy heating," he said. He watched as John smiled and laughed. "You know what I'm talking about too."

"Of course I do," John chuckled. "We should really talk to Mrs. Hudson about that."

Sherlock shook his head. "If we told Mrs. Hudson I wouldn't need you to be my personal heater," he stated. He leaned forward and kissed him.

John grinned and opened his eyes fully. "Todays the party," he said happily. "You get to see me in my tux."

Sherlock fell back on his pillow. "I can't wait to see it," he said truthfully. He had wanted to know what it looked like ever since John got it fitted. He had tried to look for it but his mother had it hidden and for once he hadn't found it yet. "I can wait for the party though." He turned to John again and grabbed his shirt. "Can you put it on for me now?" he questioned.

John laughed and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid your mum would kill me if I showed you early," he admitted.

Sherlock groaned. "She wouldn't be too mad," he pouted. He needed to see it; he was going mad not knowing.

"I went through a lot of trouble to keep it hidden from you," John said. "If I showed you hours before the party she would kill me."

"Fine," Sherlock sighed. "Then you have to keep me distracted until the party."

"Open a window first," John smirked, "it is too hot in here."

Sherlock giggled and climbed off the bed. He opened the window feeling the cool window run pass him. He slipped back into the bed. "Better?"

"Much," John said laying on Sherlock again.

Sherlock smiled and kissed him. "Good," he said.

X

Sherlock poured himself a cup of coffee, putting in what he wanted. He leaned against the counter and watched his mother move around the kitchen. "Will John be joining us for breakfast?" she asked.

"No, he's still asleep," Sherlock told her smiling. "He's working off the last of his bug." He sipped his coffee, making a face as the bitter liquid hit his tongue. He didn't know why he drank it if he didn't like it.

"I'll have them take away his plate," Cecilia hummed. "He'll eat when he wakes up." She stepped next to him.

Sherlock looked down at her about to say something. "Well look what we have here," the twins said as they stepped into the room.

"You had to invite them?" Sherlock groaned. "What do you want?"

"We hope your 'friend' wasn't too upset with us last night," Bridget and Brian said.

Cecilia put a hand on her son's arm. "Ignore them Sherlock," she told him.

"They're one of the reasons why I never show up to family gatherings," Sherlock said. He saw his mother frown as he turned around. "He wasn't too broken up about it."

Bridget and Brian scowled at him. "Aunt Cecilia, good morning," they said as they walked by Sherlock.

Sherlock growled at them before turning to Cecilia. "I'm going back up to my room, call me when breakfast is ready," he told her, leaving a kiss on her cheek and running back to his room.

X

Sherlock sat behind John as he mopped up the syrup with his waffles. He rested his head on his shoulder. "We have a few hours before we have to start getting ready for the party," he told him.

John swallowed and turned his head to look at him. "Yeah, what were you thinking of doing to pass the time some more?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged and kissed him. "I was thinking we could go for a walk," he said.

"Sounds fine with me," John said. "I just have to get dressed first."

Sherlock laughed and nodded. "You don't want to walk around in your boxers," he said.

Once John was finished cleaning his plate Sherlock took it from his hands. "Now, get dressed," he mumbled. He slid out from behind John and put the plate on the bedside table. He watched as John got dressed.

"Ready once you are," John said with a smile.

Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled him into a kiss. "Ready," he sighed. He pulled him to the door only to be stopped. "What?"

"Jackets," John said grabbed their coats from the closet.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled on his jacket. "Now let's go," he said tugging on John's hand and bringing him out of the room.

John kissed his hand and followed him slowly. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Just a walk around the woods," Sherlock shrugged. He needed to get out of the house, away from the family.

"Sounds like fun," John sighed.

X

Sherlock walked noisily through the woods, the old leaves and twigs cracking under his shoes. "John, I hate my family," he mumbled.

John shook his head. "You don't hate your whole family," he said. "You can't. You love your mum, and Henry, and even Mycroft, though you're going to deny it."

"You know me so well," Sherlock smirked. He stopped and leaned against a tree, pulling John close to him. "I love you."

"I'm not family," John said. "But I still love you anyway."

Sherlock ran his fingers across John's cheeks. "You're my family," he told him. "The only one I need."

John frowned and looked up at him. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You seem a bit out of it."

Sherlock kissed him lightly. "I'm fine," he told him. He leaned his forehead against John's. "I don't want you to leave me."

John furrowed his brow. "I'm not going to leave you," he assured him. "Is this coming up because of your family?"

"They're a nuisance," Sherlock mumbled. He looked down at their feet. "I hate listening to them talk down about you and what you did to me. You didn't do anything, it was my entire fault. They don't know what happened years ago." He moved his hands down to John's chest and clenched his fists in his shirt. "I don't want them to blame you for anything John."

"Stop," John said with a stern voice. "Ignore them."

Sherlock nodded and kissed him again. "Let's go back," he said. "We have to get ready."

John nodded but pulled Sherlock into a hug. "If I hear anything said about us I'll take care of them," he said into his chest.

Sherlock laughed and hugged him back. When John pulled back he looped and arm around his waist and Sherlock draped his arm over his shoulders. They walked silently back into the house.

X

Sherlock fixed the bowtie on his neck again. He hated the thing but promised that he would wear it for at least an hour. He looked over himself one more time in the mirror, satisfied with his dark tuxedo. He wiped his hands across the front of it and exited his room.

He walked alone to where the party was going to be taking place. He saw his mother standing around talking with a few guests that arrived already. He stepped up next to her and tapped her on the shoulder. "Is John almost done?" he asked.

Cecilia put a hand over her mouth. "You really are waiting to see what he looks like?" she asked. "I figured by now that you would have found it."

"I promised John I wouldn't," Sherlock mumbled looking over the crowd for him.

"He'll be down any moment now," Cecilia assured him. She rubbed his arm slowly with a smile on her face. "You're going to love it."

Sherlock sighed. "It's just a tux," he murmured.

Cecilia kissed his cheek. "Go sit down, have a drink, and relax," she told him.

Sherlock did as he was told and found a table and planted himself at it.

X

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as a different song started. It had been twenty minutes since he asked Cecilia if John was ready and he still hadn't seen him. He looked around the growing crowd and saw Mycroft, the last person he wanted to see, walking towards him. "Not now," he told him right away.

"Can I not say hello to my dear brother?" Mycroft asked, pretending to be hurt by his words.

"Fine, hello; now leave," Sherlock told him.

Mycroft controlled himself before he could roll his eyes. "Where's John?" he asked.

Sherlock looked up at him with a scowl. "Somewhere getting ready still," he told him. "Please Mycroft, go converse with the other family members; I'm not in the mood to." Mycroft made a small bow before leaving him alone.

Sherlock sighed in relief as he started to scan the growing crowd again. He saw blond hair moving through the mass of people and stood up. There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned around, an insult on his tongue, but stopped short. He swallowed at the sight of John.

John was wearing a well fitted black tuxedo. Bits and pieces of it were a deep red, along with the vest and bowtie. Sherlock couldn't believe how it looked. He circled around him, his mouth handing open slightly. The trousers had a long deep red line going down the side and the pockets were lined with red as well. His jacket pockets were lined with red; the buttons on his sleeve and front were a nice red too.

Sherlock loved it. He had never liked a piece of clothing as much as he loved the tux, and the man wearing it. He came around front of him and stared at him.

"Do you like it?" John asked with a small hopeful smile.

Sherlock nodded vigorously. "It looks great on you," he told him. He stepped forward and rubbed his hands against John's sides. He leaned down and kissed him.

"You look great too," John told him. "Can you wear a tux every day?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," he stated. "It would grow old rather quickly."

John sighed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "Yeah, you're right," he said.

Sherlock smiled down at him as he pulled him slowly to the dance floor. He started swaying them as he stared into John's eyes. "I love you," he muttered.

"I love you too," John said.

Sherlock kissed him softly. He wrapped his arms around John's neck. "John," he whispered, "will you marry me?"

**Too much? Did you like it? Also, I'm horrible with description, sue me. Uh, that's all. Oh, tell me what you think with a review; I would love to hear all your lovely comments. BYE!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Well, this has been a long wait. I'm sorry if any of you were waiting for this. Uh, I hope you like it. Have fun reading. See ya. **

John stared at him, his mouth open but nothing came out. He licked his lips and shook his head. "No," he answered. The arms on his waist started to fall as did the smile on Sherlock's face. John quickly grabbed his hands and held them where they were. "No, listen to me. I don't think we're ready to get married."

Sherlock looked down at him and shook his head. "Not ready?" he asked. "You think we're not ready?" He let out a deep laugh. "John, we were ready years ago."

John sighed and rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "Yes, maybe when we first started dating but we were broken up for fifteen years Sherlock," he told him. "Fifteen long years, that's long enough to lose a small connection with people. Now, this doesn't mean I don't love you, or that I want us to break up again, it just means right now isn't the time for this."

"We didn't lose any connection though John," Sherlock hissed.

John nodded and squeezed his hands. "I know we didn't, but still, you have to understand," he said. "I'm not ready for this."

Sherlock nodded and pulled his hands away from John's. "I need to be alone," he muttered and left John on the dance floor.

John watched him go, his heart breaking a little. "I love you," he whispered. He turned around and went to a table, slumping back in a chair. He messed up, big time. Why was he stupid enough to say no? All he could hope for was that Sherlock would come back and everything would be okay. He groaned and grabbed a glass of champagne off the waiter's tray as he passed. He really wished he could forget about that moment, possibly go back in time and fix it. He downed the glass quickly and stood up, going to find another one.

X

John had his head on the table, the drinks not helping him at all. He felt a tap on his shoulder and he stood up quickly, hoping it was Sherlock. He frowned when he saw it was Cecelia. "Hello," he said with a smile.

Cecelia grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the dance floor. She situated his hands and they started dancing. "So, would you like to tell me why my son is smoking outside and you're in here trying to get drunk?" she asked as they glided across the floor.

John looked away full of guilt. "I was stupid," he mumbled.

"Well, yes, I knew that one of you did something stupid," Cecilia told him. "Just tell me what happened."

"Sherlock proposed to me," John told her. He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep breath. "I said no, I wasn't ready for it."

Cecelia nodded slowly, thinking for a moment. "A very good reason to be apart from each other," she said. "Are you ever going to want to get married?"

John nodded eagerly. "Yes, of course I will," he said. "I would love to call your son my husband and live with him until the end of our days. I love him; I don't want to lose him."

Cecilia shushed him, squeezing his hand a bit. "I know you don't," she said. "I'm sure he knows that too." She was silent, and John watched her with a frown. "Would you like to go talk to him?"

John glanced towards the doors and sighed. "I should," he mumbled. "Though he did say he wanted to be alone."

Cecilia rubbed his arm with a small frown set on her face. "Just go see how he's doing," she told him.

John nodded and kissed her cheek before letting her go. "I promise I'll fix this, I won't break his heart again," he said. He slipped through the crowd, finding the front door. He opened it slowly and saw Sherlock's back and smoke rising above his head. He shook his head and walked up behind him, hugging him around his waist. "I'm sorry," he muttered into the soft fabric.

Sherlock's arm wound around his and John heard the man sigh. "Your words are a bit slurred and you're using a bit more strength than you normally do, you've been drinking," he stated.

"You're smoking," John replied. "I thought you quit."

"I did, but my boyfriend just told me that he doesn't want to marry me," Sherlock muttered.

John buried his head into his shoulder and let out a sigh. "I never said I didn't want to marry you," he stated. "All I said was that I wasn't ready. I would love to marry you, just not right now."

"But I'm not asking you to marry me now," Sherlock told him. "I'm asking you to marry me later on. This is just the proposal."

John moved up on his toes and kissed behind his ear. "Then how about this, you ask me later and I'll answer then," he said. "It'll be a lot easier for me to answer this in a few months or something."

Sherlock turned around and looked at him. "Will anything be different in a few months?" he asked. "You'll be the same man, I'll be the same man, and nothing's going to change."

John shook his head. "No, we'll be different, we'll be closer," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too," said Sherlock. He kissed him gently and backed away from him, putting out his cigarette. "I'm still angry though."

John nodded. "I understand," he mumbled.

"I would like to be alone again too," Sherlock told him.

John nodded again. "Are you going to smoke this time?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "My uncle only gave me two," he said. "You're lucky he won't give me anymore."

John smiled softly and kissed him one more time. "I'll go inside then," he said. "Stay warm." He turned around and started up the steps.

"You look absolutely beautiful tonight Dr. Watson," Sherlock said.

John smiled and glanced over his shoulder. "Thank you Mr. Holmes," he said. He saw a smile ghost over Sherlock's lips as he turned around again and went into the house.

X

Dinner was called; everyone was to move into the dining hall. John sat down in his spot, saving a seat for Sherlock as he watched the door for the detective. As everyone started gathering food on their plate John caught Cecilia's eye and she tilted her head to the side in a silent question. John was about to stand up to go look for Sherlock when he saw him slip through the door and over to his seat.

John smiled at him when Sherlock sat down and instinctively went to go hold his hand under the table. Sherlock pulled his hand away from his quickly and shot John a look. John frowned and turned to the food again, maybe things weren't going to be alright. He took in a deep breath and forced a smile on his face. Sherlock seemed to be fine with it earlier when they were outside, but he must have been thinking about it more and realized that the relationship might be a mistake.

John's heart dropped, his eyes going wide at the thought. He didn't want Sherlock to think that. Taking in a deep breath John calmed himself down. There was no need to overreact. He clenched his hand into a fist on his leg as he started eating.

He was silent throughout the dinner, nodding whenever someone talked to him. He watched Sherlock every now and then, watched him talk to a few of his family members like nothing was wrong. It hurt to see that he wasn't affected by this.

When everyone was finally done John stood up quickly and walked away from the hall, finding a secluded hallway. He leaned against the wall and dug his palms into his eyes, fighting back tears. He messed up the one good thing in his life. He let out a strangled sob, as he started crying. He slammed his fist on the wall. God he hated himself so much.

He heard footsteps approaching and quickly pushed himself off the wall, turning to face the window so they wouldn't know he was crying.

"John," Sherlock said his voice even and emotionless.

"Yes?" John's voice cracked a bit.

"Mother wanted me to tell you we're taking the family picture," Sherlock told him.

John nodded and continued to stare out the window. "I'll be there in a minute," he said. "Just go on without me." He heard Sherlock take a step and pause before leaving him again.

John rubbed his eyes furiously; he was being stupid, oh so stupid. He took in a few shaky breaths before turning around and saw Sherlock standing there again. "I thought I told you to go one without me."

Sherlock was silent as his eyes searched John quickly. "You've been crying," he said. "I've made you cry. I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "No, it's my fault, I did something stupid," he said. "You don't have to be sorry. I'm sorry."

Sherlock frowned. "I should respect your decision," he told him.

"You're angry, I understand," John said. "I have to respect that." He scrubbed his face with his hands, forcing another smile on his face. "Come on, we don't want to be late for the picture." He started walking down the hall again, wanting nothing more in the world to get the picture over with. He made it out to the group and found the spot left open for them. He walked up and clasped his hands behind his back, staring ahead.

He felt a pair of cold hands on his hand, pulling it out of his tight grip and he glanced down to see Sherlock's. He looked up at him with a warm smile and laced their fingers together, looking at the camera. He squeezed Sherlock's hand when the flash went off.

A collected breath was sighed as everyone dispersed. The hand in John's moved from his and the smile dropped from his face. He cleared his throat and watched some of the crowd leave. He clasped his hands behind his back again, grasping them tightly. "Sherlock," he said, clearing throat as his voice came out rough. "I think we need to talk again."

"No, I don't think we do," Sherlock said, staring at him. "All we wanted to say to each other has been said. There's nothing else we could say."

John shook his head. "I need to know if we're going to be okay," he said quietly. "I need to know that we won't end because of this." Sherlock didn't say anything, his dark eyes moved from John's to the floor.

John watched him silently for a moment before nodding. "Of course," he said. "You can open presents without me. I'm going up to your room. If anyone asked where I am, just tell them I'm not feeling well again." He left Sherlock where he was and went up to the room, laying down on the bed. He curled up on his side and buried his head into the pillow, crying quietly.

**Oh crap. What have I done? I think I was going to end this one happy but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I'm sorry. I really am. Please review to tell me what you think. I would love to know. BYE!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hey guys. I know, another long wait. This one felt a bit rushed but I wanted to get it out. I'm sorry if you don't like it. See ya. **

Sherlock moved to the living room with a blank face. Does John not think he's been through crap? He proposed to the one and only man he has loved and he said no. Flat out said no. Why would he do that? They were ready. That was the most stupid thing he heard in years. He only wanted to make it official.

He sat down and stared at his feet. He felt the sofa sink next to him and he looked up to see his mother. "He's not coming down is he?" she asked.

"He's feeling sick again," Sherlock said mechanically. "I'll bring up any gifts he has."

"Now I find that hard to believe," Cecilia said. She crossed her arms and sighed. "I know you two are fighting. I won't get in the middle but I want you to look on his side of things. I know that might not be the best thing for you; you probably don't want to even think about him. He still loves you."

Sherlock curled his hands into fists. "I know mother," he said through clenched teeth. "Why don't you look at it from my view now? He's basically throwing me away. I don't want to see him again."

"That's not true," Cecilia said. She gently laid her hand on Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock, sweetie, you two are made for each other. You're always going to be showing up in each other's lives even if you try to forget about each other. Do you want to throw away such a good relationship because of a simple word?"

"A simple word that said it all," Sherlock muttered. "Mother, please leave me be." He kept his mouth shut and ignored any more comments from that point on.

X

Sherlock spent the night in the living room, not wanting to be near John just yet. But they were leaving so he was going to have to talk to him, see him again. He jogged up the steps at six in the morning and saw John curled up in a tight on his bed. Anger was building up inside of him alongside hurt. He picked up their suitcase and chucked it against the bed. "Up," he growled.

He watched John sit up straight, a line of sweat on his body. He was having a nightmare. "What's going on?" John asked, hands clinging to the sheets.

Sherlock swallowed hard. "We're leaving," he told him. "Get out of bed and dressed."

John nodded and did as he was told. "What time is it? Did I sleep late?" he questioned.

"No, we're leaving before anyone gets up," Sherlock said. He grabbed some clothes and threw them at John. "There's no need for us to stay longer. Now get dressed."

John jumped up from the bed, giving Sherlock a timid look. "There's no need to be forceful," he whispered, slowly getting dressed. "I said I was sorry, we should be able to get through this but apparently you don't want to. If you just want to break up with me you can just say so."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't say anything further. Of course he didn't want to break up with John. He wasn't sure what he wanted now. He shouldn't let on that he was thinking that he should cool down. He shook his head. No, he wasn't going to cool down. John deserved what he was getting. He grabbed his bag and went to the door. "There's a cab waiting outside," he said over his shoulder and went outside.

He climbed into the cab and waited for John. He looked up at the door and saw it open, John came limping out. He swallowed and looked away. There was no need to feel bad for him.

John slipped in next to him and kept close to the door. "Let's go," he mumbled. Sherlock nodded to the driver and watched John quietly. "What? Thinking of what else you can do to me? Going to throw something else?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away. He shut his eyes and took in a few deep breaths. "John, they were just clothes," he mumbled. "You've been hit with worse."

"Not by you," John said. "I don't want you to get like this. Like I said if you want to break up just say so. I will move out, you can get the flat and it'll be like we never met again."

Sherlock could hear John's voice shaking. He really didn't mean anything that he was saying. Of course John didn't want to break up. "That'll just make things worse John," he said. "We don't want to make things worse. Let's just drop it for now." They rode home in complete silence after that.

X

Weeks had passed. Things weren't getting better. They would fight then not talk to each other for days. John even started sleeping in the other room.

Sherlock didn't even try to talk to John properly. He stopped asking him to join him on cases, he was only a distraction.

He didn't see John so much he wouldn't be surprised if he was dating someone else now. Sherlock tried to tell himself that he wouldn't care if he was or not. John was a grown man with needs that Sherlock was not fulfilling and it was as if they weren't together anymore.

One day though, when the two were both home and ignoring each other the doorbell rang. Sherlock's head shot up and he looked towards John. "Client," he said. He pulled off his goggles and went downstairs, letting in a frantic young lady with a small boy in his arms.

"Mr. Holmes, you need to help us," the woman said. "Something happened and I can't go to the police."

Sherlock nodded and ushered her and the boy upstairs. "Tell me what's wrong," he said, already figuring out bits and pieces of the problem.

"I was playing with Zachery when I heard yells coming from the floor below," she said. "I went to go check and Mrs. Bloo and Mr. Bloo were being attacked. I ran upstairs as fast as I could and got Zachery. We escaped down the fire escape and we came here."

Sherlock nodded. "And you're the nanny?" he asked. "What's your name?"

"Mary," she told him, sitting Zachery on her lap. "I work for the Bloo's, keeping an eye on Zachery. I know that Mr. Bloo is in with some bad people."

Sherlock nodded. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked.

"Find their killers," Mary said. "Keep us safe."

"I'm not the police, all I have is myself," Sherlock said. "I can't go after people and keep you safe."

"I can help," John said, stepping in with tea.

Sherlock looked up at him. "How?" he asked.

"Well, what kind of protection are you looking for?" John asked.

Mary looked up at him. "I know they're after us," she said. "We need to get out of the city, maybe even out of the country."

"That will be perfect," John said, looking at Sherlock. "I can take them out of the country and keep them safe while you work here."

Sherlock stared at him then at Mary who was still looking at John. "Okay," he said. "First thing first you need to tell me more about the people your employer was involved with."

"I don't know too much about them," Mary said. "But they were always around, looking for money."

Sherlock nodded. "That doesn't narrow anything down," he mumbled. "I can get police files on all the gangs and mob groups. Do you remember what any of the people look like?"

"One of the guys had dark skin, longish hair," Mary said. "I don't remember. I just wanted to make sure Zachery was okay and get him out of there as fast as I could."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, of course," he murmured. He stood up and went into the kitchen. "John, come here."

John nodded towards Mary before going to the kitchen. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Sherlock asked. She didn't like the way she looked at John.

"Yeah, anything to help and be on a case again," John said.

Sherlock nodded. "Okay," he sighed. "You're going to need to stay with them often. We'll keep in touch over phone, Skype. I'll have Mycroft set you up with a place."

John smiled and nodded. "Okay," he said. "Sounds easy enough."

Sherlock nodded and looked back at Mary. "You can stay here for the night; we'll move you somewhere else tomorrow."

Mary smiled. "Thank you Mr. Holmes," she said. She stood up and shook his hand. "Thank you so much."

Sherlock simply nodded and called Mycroft. "Get her set up in my room," he told John. "Does the kid need a separate bed?"

Mary shook her head and looked down at Zachery who was sleeping. "No, he can sleep with me."

Sherlock nodded and watched as John took them to his room. Mycroft finally picked up. "Hello?" he asked.

"Mycroft, I need three train tickets heading towards Scotland," Sherlock said.

"Fleeing the country brother?" Mycroft asked.

"It's for a case," Sherlock said. "I also need you to find a hotel for John and two others."

Mycroft sighed. "Okay," he said. "Mind if I ask what case?"

"Yes, I do," Sherlock said and hung up. He sighed and shut his eyes. He didn't like the idea of John being alone with her. He shook his head and got up. He was just going to ignore the feeling for the case. She would be gone afterwards. Unless of course John liked her too. Then he would be alone.

**Hey, how was that? I wanted to get to the new case quickly so it may be a bit choppy. I'm sorry. Please review. I love them. They keep me writing. BYE!**


	29. Chapter 29

**Alright, this one may not be good it may be good. This Mary is nothing like the one in the show if you have seen the new season yet. I wrote it before I saw that Mary. Well I wrote my Mary before I saw that Mary. I quite like Mary honestly. Anyway back to the story. I hope you enjoy and sorry for the long wait, boot camp does that to people. See ya. **

The next day John was waiting to go. He had a knot in the pit of his stomach and he was worried something bad might happen. He tried not to think that though as they all rode in a taxi to the train station. He wanted to reach out and grasp Sherlock's hand, to give it a gently squeeze just to reassure himself. However the man's demeanor did not look like it would be a good idea to do that.

The cab came to a stop and John shut his eyes. He waited for Mary and Zachery to get out before sliding to the door. Sherlock grabbed his elbow before he could move any further. "Keep an eye her John," he whispered to him. "Make sure you always have your gun on you and always keep on your toes."

John nodded and swallowed hard. "I know, you're acting like this is the first time I've done this," he said. He placed his hand over Sherlock's, giving it that squeeze that he wanted before letting it drop. "This will all be over with before you know it. Trust me." He wasn't what he was talking about, the case or the constant fight they seemed to be having.

Sherlock sighed and gave him a quick nod. "Let's go," he murmured. He opened his door and climbed out. He pulled the train tickets from his pocket and went around to Mary and Zachery. "These are you tickets. Don't lose them, go straight to your hotel and don't leave John's sight."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I understand," she murmured. She took the tickets and handed them to Zachery to hold.

John stepped in before Sherlock could say anything about her attitude. "I'll keep in contact with you. Keep you up to date on everything and if I can get any more information I will."

Sherlock shut his eyes and nodded. "A simple text at the start of the day and at the end of the day will suffice," he murmured. "Now get on the train before you get left behind and I have to get you another one."

John bit the inside of his lip and nodded. He grabbed the bags and led the small group onto the train. He glanced back at Sherlock, watching him get back in the cab. He hated this.

X

John was jolted awake, his grip on Zachery tightening as the door opened to their cart. It was just Mary. "You weren't supposed to leave the cart," he told her. He rubbed his eyes, keeping Zachery close.

"I had to use the bathroom," Mary told him. "Don't worry, I didn't go far. You won't tell your friend Holmes will you?"

John sighed and shook his head. "No, 'cause that would mean I would have to tell him I fell asleep," he mumbled. God knows he would get crap for that. "Just don't do it again okay."

"Fine," Mary said sitting down. She smiled lightly at him. "Are you ever going to be a father? You look so natural with a child."

John shook his head again. "Sherlock's not too fond of children," he said. "I would love to have one but I understand his boundaries. Plus our job isn't really the best one for children to be around."

"You mean you two are dating?" Mary asked. "I would have never guessed. He acts so cold to you."

"Just having a bit of a rough patch," John explained. He looked out the window and sighed, missing the grin that slid over Mary's face. "Nothing to worry about though, it will all be fixed."

X

They made it to the hotel without any problems. John set up his laptop on the desk before putting his suitcase on the floor by his bed. He glanced over at Zachery who was jumping on his and Mary's bed with a small smile. "Careful there bud, you might get hurt," he told him.

"I tell him that all the time," Mary said, coming out of the bathroom in her pajamas.

John looked at her before his cheeks went a bit red. The clothes showed off a bit more then he would like. "And yet he never listens," he said. He grabbed Zachery by the waist and lifted him up. "Stop bouncing. You're going to fall off and I don't have my first aid kit."

Zachery pouted and crossed his arms. "Fine," he mumbled.

John smiled and set him down. "Now, get in bed and I'll turn on some cartoons for you." The boy crawled into the bed and lay back as John did as he promised.

The blond went over to the desk and pulled out his phone. He sent a quick text to Sherlock.

**Got to the hotel safely. No one suspicious at all. Will text you in the morning. –JW**

John nearly dropped his phone when he felt hands on his shoulders. "Yes Mary?" he asked, shutting his eyes. "Do you need something?"

"Actually yes, I do," she said, sliding his hand gently along his shoulder. "Can I get something do drink from the machine down the hall?"

"Of course," John mumbled. "Go right ahead."

Mary's hand slid around the back of his neck as she went to the door. He got up and stretched his back, watching her go. He opened the door, keeping an eye on her and Zachery.

His phone buzzed and he looked at the text.

**Okay. –SH**

John sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was time to call it quits. There seemed to be nothing left for him to do. He messed up and there was no going back, no light at the end of the tunnel. He would talk about it with Sherlock when the case was over, see what he thought. He might just be thinking the same thing.

Mary came back with a smile. "Got it," she said, brushing pass him, barely touching him.

John shut his eyes and sighed. He really wished she would stop touching him. He went to the bathroom to change into his own pajamas and went to his bed to lie down. "Try to get some sleep," he told them, pulling the covers up to his chest.

"Okay John," Zachery said.

John smiled a bit and looked over at the boy who was already snuggling up with the pillow. Mary looked John and gave him a smile. John cleared his throat and turned on his back. "Good night you two."

"Good night John," Mary sighed as she shut off the lights.

John shut his eyes and sighed. He wasn't going to like this case at all and he could feel it.

X

After a few days John was growing a bit comfortable around the two. He had been ignoring the constant touching from Mary and had been making himself believe that Sherlock was just being so cold because of the case. He didn't want to let Mary's words get to him. Not about anything she had said. But as the days went on and he had been spending time with Zachery he could see he wanted a son more and more.

John liked Zachery quite a lot. He was nice kid that was going through a rough time. The boy was shy but playful and it was fun to watch him use his imagination. John could sit and watch him for hours. It made his insides ache that he didn't have a son and never will. But he was right. Sherlock didn't like children and it would be dangerous to have one in their line of work. He didn't know what to do. If he was going to go through with this whole break up thing with Sherlock then he could have a child but then he would have lost Sherlock. He had spent so long trying to get him back.

X

On the fifth night there John decided to take the two out to dinner. He was having fun despite the situation. Zachery was sitting on John's lap as he colored the kids menu. John was looking over his own menu while scanning the restaurant at the same time.

"John," Mary's voice cut through his small deductions of people. Nothing big, just something he picked up. He was able to tell who had a dog and who didn't and that was about it. "Calm down, no one's going to show up here. They're looking for us in London."

John sighed and shook his head. "You don't know that," he said. "They could be anywhere, anyone. Trust me, I know people with eyes everywhere."

Mary laughed and leaned back in her chair. "He's really got you paranoid doesn't he?" he asked. "You need to cut him off as soon as you get back. Settle down with someone nice."

John shut his eyes and sighed. That was also getting on his nerves. "I am with someone nice," he told her. "You don't understand. I need him."

"No you don't," Mary said. "You don't need him. You're lying to yourself."

John turned away from her and looked back at his menu. "What should I get Zachery?" he asked.

Zachery looked at the menu and pointed to something random.

John laughed. "I'm not a big fan of liver to be honest, how about I just go with a steak," he said.

"Good choice," Zachery said as he colored on John's napkin having run out of room on his menu.

John smiled and ruffled his hair gently. "Thanks buddy," he murmured.

"I'm telling you, this is what you need," Mary said, "a family."

X

When dinner was over and the three of them were leaving John couldn't help but shake the feeling something bad was going to happen. He had Zachery hold onto Mary's hand so both his hands were free just in case.

They were walking back to the hotel, John's eyes roaming over the streets that were nearly empty. He tugged his jacket tighter around his shoulders as the wind blew and he looked over his shoulder. When he turned back something hit his face. He stumbled back, putting up his fists on instinct and hitting back.

John's eyes were blurry as he looked at the thing, or man, he just hit trying to see if he was going to hit back. "Go back," he yelled to Mary as the man swung again. He could hear her footsteps running away.

John was knocked to the ground by someone else and he fought hard to get back up as they kicked at him and hands grabbed at his jacket. He reached for his gun and pulled it out. Aiming it one of the men both of them stopped. John let out a soft sigh as he licked the blood from his lip. "If you follow me I will shoot you," he told them. It didn't take them long to run away.

Running back to the hotel he went to the room. He saw Zachery and Mary waiting on the bed. "Are you two okay?" he asked.

"Yes," Mary sighed, cradling Zachery's head to her chest.

John nodded and grabbed his phone out his pocket. He went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet.

**Got beaten up, don't think the guys were part of the group Zachery's father was involved in. Just some guys looking for cash. Will tell you more details if they come. –JW**

John leaned his head against the sink, shutting his eyes. He could already see the text Sherlock was going to send him. Just like all the other texts. A simple 'Okay'.

When John's phone buzzed again he nearly laughed, as he pulled it back out. When he read the message a small smile crossed his face.

**Are you okay? –SH**

*****I hope you enjoyed that. I had to put the little star thingy because I didn't want you to think it was a text. I know it might be a bit iffy, I may be rushing things but I don't know. I like it honestly. It think it's a great inner monologue for John Watson sort of. A lot of thinking for his part. Maybe things will get better for them. Please review. BYE!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Okay, I know it's another long wait but what can you expect. I barely get reviews anymore and we all know reviews motivate all writers to keep writing. Except for the ones that make me want to curl up in a ball. Anyway this is another chapter to our wonderful story. It's almost over folks and I will not be writing a sequel for this one. I hope you enjoy this chapter. See ya. **

While John was away with the two clients Sherlock has able to get some work done without any type of distraction from the man. He was able to just focus on the case. The texts from John helped little; it was mostly to make him feel useful. Nothing was really happening on their end and Sherlock didn't expect them to get in any trouble.

Sherlock was able to search through so many gangs and mafias that he nearly knew each and every one of them better than his own mother. The flat was a mess with all the papers strewn around the room, some of them taped to others because there was a connection between the two sets of criminals. Mrs. Hudson made the mistake of trying to pick up and got herself shouted at by Sherlock.

X

It was late at night and Sherlock was in his mind palace, trying to sort through the information he gathered. He was sure he was so close. He could solve the case in the next week if he could just find the one missing piece. He was brought from his thoughts by his phone going off. He opened his eyes and scrubbed his face before grabbing it. 'John' he thought, sliding open the message.

Once he read the message his stomach dropped and could feel a cold sweat come over him. John was hurt, he was beaten up and no one knew by whom. He quickly texted him back, asking him if he was okay. He needed to see him.

Sherlock hadn't been this worried about John for so long he was surprised he still felt that way. Then again he did send John off so he could be safe as well and out of the city.

**Get on Skype. –SH**

He sent him the text and grabbed his computer. He had to see what John looked like so he could know how okay he was or how bad he was. He just wanted to see him.

**Alright, do you need anything? –JW**

**I just need to see you. Make sure you're alright; ask you some questions face to face. –SH**

**I'll be on in just a moment. –JW**

Sherlock sighed in relief and signed onto Skype. Soon enough he got a call from John and answered it. He winced a bit when he saw bruises covering John's face but tried to keep his expression in check.** "**Can you give a description of the guys?" he asked right away.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, it was dark and they hit me from behind," he said. "Then when I did get a chance to look, they all ran away."

"Why didn't you shoot them?" Sherlock asked with a low growl.

"They were just kids," John said with a sigh.

Sherlock ran his hand over his face and nodded. "You're right," he mumbled. "But they did beat you up. I would have shot them." His eyes traveled to Mary who was coming up behind John. She started washing off the dried blood from John's face. He bit the inside of his lip as he watched her. "If you will excuse me I'm trying to have a conversation with my partner."

"Sherlock she's just cleaning me up," John said. "You may not see it but they are pretty bad." He saw Sherlock's mouth open. "I wasn't going to shoot them. "

Sherlock nodded again and looked down in his lap. Was he running John into the arms of someone else? He shook his head and looked up. "Just, can you show me any other injuries? I have to make sure they don't match up with any of these reports."

John nodded and grabbed his laptop. "Alright, let me just move to the bathroom," he murmured.

"Oh come on John, no need to be shy, you're just going to take off your shirt," Mary sang. "We've seen it before."

Sherlock let out another growl and glared at her over John's shoulder. "I think it's more professional to have John do it in the bathroom," he said.

John stood up and took the laptop to the bathroom. He set it down on the sink and Sherlock watched him the whole way. "You two are bickering," he mumbled to the detective.

"You two are flirting," Sherlock mumbled. He couldn't believe he was actually this jealous. He was doing fine when he wasn't watching the girl touch John. John was his to touch and no one else.

John glanced at him and Sherlock could see uncertainty in his eyes. "Why do you care?" he asked quietly and he took off his shirt.

Sherlock's frowned as his eyes darted over the bruises that covered John's torso. "I love you John," he said, looking up to the man's face inside his screen. "I don't want to see my boyfriend flirting with someone else."

"You made that a great point over the last few weeks," John growled. He rubbed his eyes. "You can't just show up when you don't like things. God Sherlock, I wish I never said no. I wish I said yes. In fact, I'll say yes now if you're accepting it."

Sherlock licked his lips. "Really?" he asked. "You'll say yes? I mean, you're saying yes?" He couldn't help the smile that came over his face. "You'll marry me?"

"Not right now," John said. "I still think we have a few things to work out and I think we should settle down a bit with our lives. We're still young and we can wait a year, yes?"

Sherlock nodded. "I guess we can," he said. "It will give us time to plan everything." He leaned forward and looked back to his chest. "Now spin around, I have to check the bruises on your back."

"Are they looking like anything important?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Just a random beating," he assured him. "You'll probably never see them again."

John nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll talk with you later then," he said. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled. "I love you too," he said. "Bye." He ended the call and got up. Now he really had to find the gang that did it so he could John home quicker.

X

"It's not like I'm asking you to drop a bomb on some country I'm just asking you to try to find some people for me," Sherlock said into his phone. He dropped his head against the table. "Mycroft, listen to me, a little boy and his babysitter's lives are at stake here."

"And you're just having a field day with it aren't you?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock could hear the smile in the man's voice. "If you help me I won't tell mummy about you not being sick last Sunday brunch and that you were off with Lestrade."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head. "Fine, the family was last seen in London about two days ago," he mumbled. "They probably haven't left yet either."

Sherlock nodded. "Do you know where they were last seen in London, big brother?" he asked.

"No Sherlock, they're very tricky people to find," Mycroft said. "I'll run a search for them again and get back to you."

Sherlock hung up and looked to his computer to see if John was calling and lucky for him he was. "John," he said once he answered. "Bring the boy to the screen."

"His name is Zachery," John said. He picked the boy up and set him on his lap.

"'Ello Mr. Holmes," Zachery said with a smile.

"Hello Zachery, I have a few questions for you," Sherlock said. "Did you see the people that attacked your parents?" With a nod from the boy he held up a picture. "Were these the men?" A shake of the head. "How about these?"

"Yes, them," Zachery said and curled up in John's lap.

John rubbed his back gently. "Is that all Sherlock?" he asked. "Is he free to go?"

Sherlock sighed and nodded. "Where is the other one?" he asked.

"She's in the bathroom," John mumbled. "Be nice to her okay. She's been through a lot too." He set Zachery down and told him to go play. "So, now you know who it is right."

Sherlock nodded. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think I do. John, I have to go, text me any updates. I'll have this case solved in no time." He cut the call and shut the laptop before getting up and grabbing his jacket. It wouldn't take him much longer to take down these people. He just had to find their weak point.

**See, I told you everything would get better. I don't lie. Except when I lie. That's beside the point though. This chapter is over and we'll be onto the next one soon enough, don't worry. I love you all and I hope you have a wonderful time. BYE!**


	31. Chapter 31

**Okay, I haven't been ignoring this or anything like that. My computer is horrible and I've been working a lot lately. I mean a lot. It's crazy. I got this done though. I hope you guys like it. See you later. **

John told Mary the good news; Sherlock was getting closer to the killers. She didn't seem to take it as well as John thought she would. The man just shrugged it off and watched as she retreated back into the bathroom. He sighed and turned to Zachery, deciding to play with him. "Are you happy that Mr. Holmes is catching the bad guys?" he asked quietly.

Zach nodded, not looking up from his coloring. "I don't like bad guys," he whispered. He dropped the red crayon and picked up the yellow one.

"What are you drawing?" John asked, cocking his head to the side.

Zach smiled a bit and looked up at him. "You," he laughed.

John laughed as well and nodded. "Am I wearing a cape?" he questioned, noticing the red square behind him in the picture.

"Yes, you're a super hero," Zach told him seriously. "So is Mr. Holmes."

"So that's not a flag pole with a flag?" John asked pointing to the thing next to him. He shook his head and laughed a bit. He ruffled his hair as Mary came back out of the bathroom. "Welcome back."

Mary sighed and sat on the bed. "I think we should go back to London," she murmured.

John snorted and shook his head. "We haven't gotten the all clear from Sherlock," he reminded her. "It's not safe. If we go back now we're putting all of our lives in danger."

"It's safe, by the time we get back he should have them right?" Mary muttered. "So let's just go."

John gave her a look and shook his head. "He does not have them and I have strict instructions to keep you guys here until it is safe."

Mary seemed to ignore him and started packing what she did have. "Then I'm leaving," she huffed. "I'm going back to my normal life."

John quickly got up and grabbed her by the elbow. "That life isn't quite normal yet. Sherlock is doing his best."

Mary gave him a small sad smile. "Oh John, I really did like you," she whispered, pecking him on the lips.

John was a bit shocked but the thing that made him freeze was the feeling of something against his stomach. He didn't have to look down to know what it was. "We can talk this out," he whispered, keeping his eyes trained on her.

Mary shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about," she told him. "Let me go and you will live for another few moments, don't and you will die right now. Do you want poor Zachery to see that?"

John glanced to the boy who was oblivious to this all. He slowly let go of her arm. "Why now? Why threaten me now?"

"You're going with your pretty little boyfriend," Mary smiled. "We could have been great together John, I'm sorry it has to end so soon." She turned. "Bye Bradley, I have to go."

"Bye Mary," Zach smiled as he looked up. "See you later."

Once Mary was out the door John let out a sigh of relief before he kicked it into high gear. "Zach, start putting things in the bags okay? I need to call Mr. Holmes." Zach gave him a weird look but with one sharp 'now' from John he started moving quickly.

John pulled out his phone and called Sherlock. "John, you'll never guess what I found out," Sherlock said as he answered.

"That Mary is crazy and is part of the gang? Yeah I figured that one out," John said as he started to search for his own gun. "She left, said we only had a few moments left. I'm trying to leave the room as quickly as I can."

"Wait, a few moments? John, they've been watching you this whole time," Sherlock said. "You can't leave that room. They could kill you."

"Mary has the key, if she gives it to them then we're dead either way," John said. He was reaching for Zach when the door opened. A shot rang through the air and John dropped the phone.

X

When John woke next the first thing he noticed was that he was tied to a chair, a bit too tightly too. He tried tugging on his arms but it only tore at his skin more. He got his senses back slowly and he groaned loudly as pain shot up through his leg. He glanced down and noticed bloody bandages wrapped around his thigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his head.

His eyes shot open with the thought of Zachery and sighed when he saw him across from him tied to a chair as well. "Zach," he said weakly. No response. Panic set it. "Zach," he said a bit louder. "Buddy, please answer me. Please be okay."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm his breathing which was becoming erratic. Opening his eyes he focused on the boy, trying to see everything.

'Children are stomach breathers, is his stomach moving? Yes, good. Any nasal flaring? No. Another plus. No signs of bleeding from what he could see,' he thought as he examined Zach from afar.

The doctor dropped his head forward feeling his energy draining. They were still alive, that was good. Mary said they would get killed. He huffed out a small laugh. "Should have caught that Sherlock," he mumbled into the air. "You're slipping." His eyes slid shut and he was out.

X

"John!" his name rang through the air, piercing his head which was killing him. "John!" There it was again. Who was calling for him?

John opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of Sherlock. He blinked a few times before smile. "I'm so happy to see you," he mumbled, still tired.

Sherlock grinned. He lifted his phone to his ear. "I found him, he's up and talking. Send in the paramedics." He hung up and took John's face in his hands. "How are you feeling?"

"M'fine," John murmured. He was untied and he rubbed his raw wrists. "Zachery?" he asked rather quickly.

"Zachery is fine," Sherlock assured him. He leaned to the side to show the boy who was curled up in Sherlock's jacket. "They didn't hurt him much, just the ropes really."

John nodded with a small smile. "Good," he mumbled. His eyes slid over to the door as the paramedics came through. "Here they are."

Sherlock took a step back and let them help John before getting him on the stretcher. "Oh, and John, I'm not slipping up," he told him before they took him out of the small room. With a small sigh Sherlock turned to Bradley and lifted him up. "Let's get you out of here," he whispered before leaving the room with the boy in his arms.

X

John was woken up by a chair moving. The screeching noise against the floor made him jump and reach for his gun that wasn't there. He felt fingers gently running along his cheek and calmed. "You really know how to wake people up don't you?" he murmured quietly.

Sherlock smiled and kissed his head. "Zachery jumped from his chair, it wasn't me," he hummed.

John opened his eyes and relaxed more when he saw he was in the hospital. "I'm still blaming you," he joked. He slowly sat up and sighed. "Well, that was an interesting case don't you think?"

Sherlock nodded. "We caught Mary, and a few other gang members," he told him. "Mary was sent to watch Zachery so she could keep an eye on his father as well."

John nodded and looked over at Zach. "Oh, who got you a toy monkey?" he asked.

Zach smiled as he gave his new monkey a pat on the head. "Greg," he told him.

John laughed. "Greg?" he asked with a small smile.

"He can't say Lestrade so he told him to call him Greg," Sherlock explained. He sat on the edge of John's bed. "The doctor said your leg should heal up nicely. It just might take a little while and lots of rest."

John nodded, kissing his cheek. "I could have told you that one," he grinned. He rested his head on his shoulder and smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?" Sherlock asked, taking his hand.

"For caring still," he hummed. "For saving me again. I love you."

Sherlock kissed the top of his head. "I love you too," he said quietly.

John grinned and squeezed his hand, turning to look at Zach. He knew everything was going to be okay now. There was no need to worry.

**Alright, I hope you guys liked that. Just a chapter or two left of this story. I'm sorry to say but all good things have to come to an end at some point right? I devoted a lot of time to this and I'm going to miss it. Well, I hope you guys have a great day or night and remember please review. I love them, I love it all. Thank you. BYE!**


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